by Karen Rock
Knowing he couldn’t stay locked inside her legs for another minute without plummeting over the edge, he gently disengaged her feet, cupping her calves in his hands.
He sank deeper, joining their bodies as far as they would go. Vibrant impulses shot through him. He eased in and out, feeling himself expand, picking up speed until he was pounding into her, giving her everything she begged for. With each thrust, her hips rose to meet his, her hands gripping his ass. The feel of her, warm and tight around him, electrified his body. The urgent noises she made sent his senses spinning into overdrive.
He tried to slow down, to make the pleasure last for them both. It’d been a long time since he’d wanted…no—needed a woman this way…if ever.
The pace grew frenzied, blistering as he nudged her to her own peak, his heart slamming in his chest. He withdrew then plunged, over and over, sinking himself to the hilt, their hips grinding and bumping in a decadent joining. Only when her back arched with a tension gripping her whole body, her thighs clenching around his, did he let himself hurtle over the edge with her.
“Whew,” Katherine said afterward, blowing the hair from her eyes with a puff of breath.
“How was it for you?” he asked once their breaths quieted.
“I just said whew.”
“It could mean whew, you’re glad it’s over.”
“Nervous about your performance?” She lightly tickled his ribs.
“Hell, yes,” he admitted. She looked so damn beautiful as he smoothed a hand over the silky crown of her head resting on his shoulder.
“It was…amazing.” The slight catch in her voice pierced his heart. He sensed, like him, she wasn’t as confident as she projected. She angled her face up to his, and her smile put his gut into a tailspin. “Now you get to return the compliment. How was I?”
“There are no words,” he answered honestly.
“That bad?”
Instead of answering, he pulled her tight against his chest and kissed her as if the world was going to end tomorrow.
“Thank you,” she mumbled against his throat a moment later, her voice growing thick, drowsy.
“My pleasure,” he said, meaning it. Kissing her, caressing her with the flats of his palms, was sensory Nirvana. His heavy eyelids lowered.
A primal satisfaction poured through him long afterward, pleasure that went beyond physical to a deep sense of rightness at being there with her. Katherine made him break one rule and then need to break another. He wanted to ask to see her again. He wanted to find out where things could go between them. Too tired, too replete to act on the feeling, he merely snuggled her closer and slipped toward a deep, satisfied slumber.
Tomorrow, he’d treat her to frozen yogurt…and much, much more if she let him…
Chapter Three
The next day, Nash strode outside the Choctaw Nation’s senior center after calling its weekly bingo game and sat on one of the wicker chairs dotting its wraparound porch. A former client of his private investigation side business had contacted him this morning. Since he specialized in documenting cheating spouses, and she’d divorced the unfaithful asshole he’d photographed with a mistress a couple years ago, Nash wondered why she’d called. Was she referring a friend?
Tea roses twined around the railing, filling the humid air with their delicate fragrance. In every direction, he spied the trailers and small ranches comprising most of his reservation. Little happened in this tight-knit, sleepy community. It was almost three hours north of Dallas, but felt like a world away from the fast-paced city. He missed the sense of belonging, the history, the pride of his unique culture while living off the reservation, and it was the reason he visited his big, extended family every Sunday.
Another scent, pungent cherry smoke, caught his attention.
“Amafo?”
Sure enough, his ninety-nine-year-old great-grandfather lifted his head and tipped back his brown suede fedora.
“Hello, grandson.” A veined, wrinkled hand waved Nash over.
“I’ve got something for you.” Nash reached in his jacket pocket and passed over a box of the spicy Japanese crackers his elder had developed a weakness for when he’d been a code talker in the Pacific during World War II.
“Kaki no tane,” his great-grandfather murmured, his thin lips stretching into a smile, feathering his cheek with deep wrinkles. “You’re good to me. Always respectful to your elders.”
Nash sat on the swing beside his great-grandfather and adjusted a woven shawl slipping down Amafo’s shoulder. “Only because I’m counting on a big inheritance.”
A rumbly laugh erupted from his elder. “I’m leaving you all my socks.”
“The checkered ones, too?” Nash pointed to the pair peeking above his great-grandfather’s wing tip shoes.
“Nope. Those I’m going to be buried in.”
Nash winced, worry at the real possibility striking him. “That’s a long time from now.”
A cough rattled his Amafo’s thin frame. “I just want to make it to my hundredth birthday. And see you married.”
Nash’s thoughts returned to the empty condo he’d woken up in this morning—his plans to make Katherine breakfast, to learn more about her, up in smoke. She’d turned him to ashes with a mind-blowing hookup then left without a trace.
His body tightened at the remembered feel of Katherine’s silken flesh, the passion in her blue-violet eyes. After waking on the couch, he’d carried her into his bedroom, where they’d made love until they’d fallen into an exhausted slumber at dawn.
And then she’d simply walked out. No goodbye. No “Thanks, that was fun.” Just a cold disappearing act.
Leaving like she had proved he’d been wrong about her. She hadn’t seen the real him after all. She’d taken a thrill ride on Nash the male dancer, gotten her fill, and hopped off without a backward glance.
He’d never treated his lovers like they didn’t matter, were irrelevant, like she had…. All his life, he’d taken pains to keep things light and physical-only with women, careful not to raise expectations or hurt anyone. He should be glad Katherine left without expecting more, despite his decision last night to pursue her.
So why the hell did it bug him?
Because she rocked your world.
Or was he just being sensitive?
One of his male cousins would say, yes.
And he’d own that quality. He was a sensitive, feeling kind of guy. He was man enough to admit it. So fucking what?
He knew to avoid close relationships because of how easily others could hurt him. He didn’t want to end up like his mother, miserably married to a cheater who’d sent her into a depression. No matter how hard he’d tried to make her happy after his Anglo father walked out, his mother never fully recovered.
No. He’d never get married.
“We’re celebrating your birthday next week. I’ll even help you blow out the candles.” Nash sent out a silent wish they’d be sharing many more birthday cakes together in the future. Amafo was a father figure to him. A mentor. Role model.
One he had yet to live up to.
While, given his dysfunctional childhood, catching unfaithful spouses filled him with personal satisfaction, it didn’t fulfill him. It wasn’t his life’s calling and neither was dance.
His great-grandfather nodded, the folds of his neck settling atop one another. “I’m going to give you my Purple Heart, too.”
Nash’s body stilled. What an honor. “Thank you, Amafo.”
A gnarled hand clasped Nash’s. “You have the biggest heart in the family.”
“I’ve disappointed everyone, though.”
Nash’s head dipped slightly. He recalled the bar fight and the resulting property damage years ago which left him with misdemeanor charges and a record. It’d ended his lifelong dream of joining his reservation’s law enforcement group.
“Not me,” his great-grandfather said stoutly.
Nash knew better than to disagree with an elder, especially the head of his family, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
Given his shaky reputation on the reservation, he’d traveled to Dallas for a fresh start. But his hopes of joining the city’s law enforcement ended when he’d passed the civil service test but was rejected because of his recent record. Down and out, he’d met Pete Landon, who’d offered him a job as a dancer at Dallas Heat. Needing the money and unwilling to go back to the reservation a failure, he’d accepted.
A soft snore sounded near Nash’s ear, and he tucked his now snoozing great-grandfather’s hand back under his afghan.
He’d been surprised by how much he enjoyed dancing at Dallas Heat. Growing up with a depressed mother meant he knew a thing or two about lifting women’s moods. He loved making them smile and laugh…giving them an escape from the pressures of their everyday lives. Still, the job left him lonely and unfulfilled. He’d never forgotten his dream of becoming a legitimate member of law enforcement, but what police academy would take a male stripper applicant with a rap sheet seriously—one whose only accomplishments, to date, were taking scandalous pictures of cheating spouses rather than solving real crimes?
He wanted to turn his detective practice into a full-time, legitimate job, but real criminal cases went to agencies run by retired ex-law enforcement. He needed to think about next steps for his future. All his life, he’d gotten by on his looks, but dancing wasn’t a career you aged out of gracefully.
So what next?
Given his main skills were grinding in a G-string and taking pictures of naked couples, he didn’t have the kind of resume to secure him a job outside the subversive world of Dallas after dark.
“Sorry, I’ve kept you waiting!” called a familiar woman with clipped black hair and small silver hoop earrings. Her loose gray dress floated around her ankles as she climbed the Senior Center’s porch steps.
Nash took Deena Pierce’s hand when she paused on the top step, gripping the railing, beads of perspiration on her brow. “Here.” He led her to a seat on the side of the porch opposite his dozing great-grandfather. “Let me get you some water.”
She waved his offer away, breathing heavily as she gripped his hand and dropped into the wicker chair. “No. I just. Need. To catch. My breath.”
He sat beside Deena, worriedly eyeing her flushed face. “How about some ice? Something to eat?”
She shook her head, the dark circles under her eyes and the grooves around her mouth making her appear older than when he’d last seen her a couple years ago. Her eyes had glowed with triumph after she’d bested her ex-husband in divorce court using Nash’s pictures. “I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“My daughter—she’s,” Deena’s voice caught. “She’s missing.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Layla?”
Nash had grown up with Layla on the reservation, attended the same school. Since she was five years younger than Nash, he mostly knew her by reputation: a free-spirited, fun-loving party girl everyone liked…except the reservation patrol, who’d picked her up one too many times stumbling home. He’d heard whispers of her being charged with drunk and disorderly conduct, DUI, and marijuana possession.
“Yes.” Deena yanked out a tissue and raised it to her watering eyes, dabbing. “She’s been missing for two months.”
“Tell me everything you can,” Nash said gently, holding her other hand tight. Was Deena asking him to locate her daughter?
“The last time I saw her, she was going out with friends. One of them had a birthday, and they were spending the night in Dallas. Hitting the clubs. You know how she liked to have fun.”
He nodded, searching his memory, wondering if he’d seen Layla at Dallas Heat. A familiar face like hers would have stuck out. “You’ve reported her missing to the police?”
Deena blew her nose and leveled bleak eyes on his face. “Yes. But they’re not taking it seriously.”
“What makes you think so?”
“They’ve made no progress. Have no leads. The officers say she’s an adult; without any signs of foul play, there’s nothing they can do.”
“What do her friends say?”
“They wanted to stay at a club longer, and Layla wanted to leave. She went outside to call an Uber, and no one’s seen her since.”
“Have the police interviewed her friends?”
“Yes. Even though they all vowed she wasn’t drinking, the officer said, given her past record, she might have dropped out for a while. Gone on a bender like she has in the past. He said in most cases like this, people eventually show back up.”
“Not Layla,” Nash said, speaking his thoughts aloud. Kids on the reservation had a strict sense of family and wouldn’t drop out. Not for an extended period.
“I knew you’d understand.” Deena’s eyes squeezed shut and a tear trembled on her lashes.
“The case has gone cold.”
Deena nodded. “The police—they think she’s still a user, but Layla got clean recently. She’d even been attending NA meetings. She texts or calls me every day, but since she disappeared…nothing. Nash, please help me. I don’t have money to pay one of those fancy agencies. Besides, I trust you. You know Layla. And you’re intelligent. Look how you caught my sneaking husband. He thought he was clever, but you were smarter. Plus, you never give up.”
She pressed her clenched hand to her trembling mouth and added, in a whisper, “Please bring my baby home.”
A band of sympathy tightened around Nash’s chest. Deena was a single mother like his, who did the best she could raising a child on her own. He also identified with Layla, who’d been judged and dismissed for her mistakes and lifestyle. People counted him out for the same reason…people like Katherine, who hadn’t thought him worthy of even a goodbye.
He pushed the thought aside. “I will,” he vowed, thinking fast. Was he the right person for the job? He stared into Deena’s overflowing eyes and his jaw clenched. Experienced or not, he wouldn’t let this loving mother suffer, or her daughter Layla, who’d turned over a new leaf for a better life. She needed to be located. Rescued. And if she was already gone two months, he had to move fast.
“What was she last seen wearing?” Nash asked, jotting down notes.
Deena described her daughter’s outfit, including a plain silver necklace, a present from her beloved grandmother. She never took it off, Deena insisted. She’d worn it so much the clasp broke and had to be repaired recently.
“Thank you, Nash.” Deena pressed his hand after he helped her down the stairs when they’d finished. Deena’s mouth wobbled into a heartbreak of a smile. “I feel better knowing you’re looking for her.”
He blinked stinging eyes after Deena walked away, sending a silent wish to the sky. He could not let them down.
“She’s right.”
Nash turned at his great-grandfather’s voice and spied him awake and leaning forward in the swing, elbows on his knees. “You’re the best man for the job.”
The swing rattled on its chain as Nash dropped beside his great-grandfather. “I’m all Deena’s got.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’ve never done anything like this, Amafo. What if I let her down?”
“You won’t. Know why?”
Nash shook his head.
His great-grandfather tapped his chest. “Your big heart. Do you know why my medal isn’t shaped like brains or biceps?”
Nash strained to hear his elder’s raspy voice. No one imparted wisdom better than Amafo.
“Because being a hero isn’t about being the strongest or even the smartest, though you have both qualities. It’s about having the most heart. You have more than anyone I know—except me, of course,” he ended with a
wink.
“Thanks, Amafo.” Nash hugged his great-grandfather goodbye, turned, and jogged down the stairs. “See you soon!” he called, his mind on his first criminal case.
Was his great-grandfather right?
Was heart all he really needed to solve a case as serious as this one? He was stubborn. He never quit until he caught his target. And his instincts, which he’d learned to trust, tended to be right. If he applied the same principals he used in his personal cases, could he locate Layla?
Deena’s anguished face flashed before his eyes as he hopped on his Harley and zoomed down the road to interview Layla’s friends. He wouldn’t stop until he found Layla, reunited her family, and proved himself as a legitimate investigator.
Chapter Four
Booming male voices hushed the moment Katherine strode into the Dallas FBI Violent Crimes unit. The whispery hum of computers filled the expectant quiet. Then the air-conditioning kicked on, blasting stale, musty air. Without breaking stride, she passed rows of agent-filled desks, feeling every assessing eye on her. Since transferring to this all-male department, she’d felt like an interloper, her outsider status as the lone female agent clear in their dismissive treatment of her.
She squared her shoulders, her movements brisk as she sat in her desk chair and fired up her computer.
“Coffee. Donuts!” hollered an arriving agent, Sam Gadson, bearing a cardboard tray and a bag. He passed around Dunkin’ Donuts cups to everyone but her.
“Got one last donut. Jim?” Sam turned at Jim’s headshake and the moment his gaze passed over Katherine, she averted her eyes, her expression shuttered, cold. She wouldn’t let them see how much she wanted that donut, the coffee, the camaraderie…
“How about you, Pete?” Sam asked the agent behind Katherine. “You could use another.”
“Nah. I’m cutting back.”
“Guess it goes in the garbage then.”
Katherine’s stomach rumbled as she watched Sam chuck the bag in the trash: excluded again. Some of the guys acted like this was the natural order; they seemed skeptical of her opinions, reluctant to accept her help. She had some nerve, they seemed to silently broadcast, a big shot BAU profiler pushing in on their turf.