Trust No One

by Velvet Vaughn

  Her smile was wide and unabashed. His eyes narrowed more and she wanted to use her finger to smooth his brows, remove the grumpiness. The waiter arrived with both of their meals, having obviously deduced they were now dining together. The rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation, her telling him about her job and life in New York, him filling her in on his large Greek family and the pressure of being a cop in Chicago. She sensed discord within him, restlessness. It seemed the job was taking a toll on him.

  By the time he escorted her out of the restaurant, she didn’t want the night to end. What started out as a painful, boring evening turned into the best date she’d had in a long time, maybe ever.

  He assisted her into the passenger seat of his department-issued sedan before rounding the car and sliding inside. When he didn’t immediately start the car, she looked over at him. He was staring at her intently, his eyes a deep midnight blue. He brushed a stray tendril off her face and his hand stayed, his thumb stroking her cheek. Her breath caught. He slowly leaned near and when his lips touched hers, fireworks exploded.

  #

  Alex knew he was moving way too fast, but when he saw that slimeball kiss Olivia, it was all he could do to stop himself from whipping out his Glock and shooting the bastard. He just met Olivia, had no claim on her, but he couldn’t help the way he felt. Possessive, out of control. He only meant the kiss to be light, a small taste. But when his lips touched hers, something inside his chest squeezed and wouldn't let go. What started soft turned hot, hard, all-consuming. She whimpered and he took advantage, sliding his tongue inside to tangle with hers.

  Reality intruded and he reluctantly broke the kiss, their shared pants filling the interior of the car. He was a cop, a detective, and he was making out in a department-issued car on a busy street in the middle of the city. He opened his mouth to apologize for moving too fast, being too aggressive, but when he looked into her cornflower blue eyes, he was lost.

  She met him halfway this time.

  #

  "I'm paying the ransom."

  "That's absolutely ridiculous," Gray Posten protested. "You have no idea if she's still alive. Don't do anything until you have proof of life."

  "She's alive," the senator said with certainty. "I don't want to do anything to upset the kidnappers. If money's what it takes to bring Pamela back to me, then so be it. It's just money."

  "Yes, but a half a million dollars is an awful lot of money," Vivi said, having arrived earlier to comfort Aaron. "Are you sure she's worth that price?"

  "Vivi," Constance Hofstra chastised.

  "I didn't mean it like that," she protested. "But like Gray said, you don't know that she's alive."

  "She is," he insisted again. "The next person who questions that is fired."

  "I agree with Posten, Aaron," Governor Denton chimed in. "Don't you, Wilks?"

  "I do," Wilks concurred. "So it's five against one, Senator."

  "But the one vote—mine—is all that counts and I'm paying."

  Posten tried a different tactic. "Even the instructions are sketchy. You're supposed to go alone to a pay phone downtown to wait for a call that will tell you where to drop the money, then return home. How do you know they will release your wife after you follow their orders?"

  "It's a chance I have to take."

  Constance issued a deep sigh. "If you insist, darling, I'll pay the ransom."

  "No, Mother, this is my wife and child we're talking about. I'll take care of it."

  "And you are my child," she responded. "A mother will do anything for her children and if this is what you want, then please let me." She stood. "I'll call Mr. Bergen at the bank first thing in the morning and arrange the funds."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kendall struggled to keep up with Dorian’s grueling pace. She was a good swimmer, but gliding beneath the inky black water in the dead of night with no moon overhead was flat-out terrifying. Her mind knew sharks didn't live in the murky waters of a Midwest lake, but her heart didn't listen. It was beating a rapid tattoo against the wetsuit.

  Dorian noticed her falling behind and slowed his movements so she could catch up. She had no idea how he knew which way to swim. She finally decided he was part fish. He carried a waterproof flashlight for emergencies but they didn’t want to use it and potentially give away their presence unless absolutely necessary.

  She had no idea how far they'd travelled or how close they were to the boat. She just followed his expert lead, trusting him to guide them to their destination. When he squeezed her arm to let her know they were close, she lifted her head from the water. She could just make out the shape of a boat a few feet ahead. When they reached the Lucky Lady, Dorian effortlessly hefted himself to the deck and turned to offer his hand. He pulled her up, the slosh of water hitting the steps as she planted her feet. They both eased off the masks and flippers and dropped the snorkeling equipment to the deck. A dim glow emanated from a light post close by, offering the only illumination. He searched the area as she allowed her eyes to adjust.

  Dorian crouched to pick the lock to the small galley. When the door creaked open, he handed her a penlight. "Anything that looks suspicious," he reminded her, letting her brush by him to enter.

  She snapped on the light and started searching.

  #

  Dorian reached out and grabbed Kendall’s arm to stop her forward progress, his penlight flicking across the interior of the houseboat. One thing was certain: someone had definitely been here. Drawers were hanging off their hinges, papers spilling out to fan across the floor. Envelopes were ripped open and cast aside. No hiding place was left untouched. There was residual dust from fingerprinting, but the cops wouldn’t have left the boat in this condition. Someone had been here after the crime scene techs. They'd be fortunate to find anything of use on the Lucky Lady. "Be careful." Kendall nodded and gingerly stepped over a broken picture frame that once held a snapshot of a man with a wide smile holding a giant fish.

  They searched through the cabinets, lifted cushions and emptied food boxes. Dorian moved to a small table, his light flickering over a dust-free space. "Looks like someone jacked his computer." It could've been the cops, but he doubted it. More likely the people responsible for the destruction swiped it. Wires had been haphazardly cast aside, but they left a small, ink-jet printer. Dorian fingered the glossy paper in the tray and pulled out a sheet. Photo paper. Interesting. For the heck of it, he plugged the printer in and powered it on. It started up with a wheeze and then stopped and beeped, a red light flashing. He ran the beam over the control panel. "Page jam," he said. Sticking the light in his mouth, he pried open the panel and tugged a sheet of thick photo paper from the rollers.

  "Well, well, what do we have here?" It was grainy and dark, but it appeared to be a partial picture of what looked like two people carrying a tarp-covered bundle.

  "What do you think it is?" Kendall asked, running her light over the shot.

  "No idea but I’d say Colbert was using it for blackmail."

  "And it got him killed."

  Dorian tucked the picture under his arm and they continued searching. At the small thump and muttered curse, he swung his light around, the beam landing on Kendall's backside, currently displayed as she sprawled on her hands and knees.

  "Have a little trouble there?"

  "The carpet tripped me," she groused, pushing to her feet. She flashed her light on the spot and crouched down to inspect the rug, her hand running along the edge. "Look at this."

  She shoved aside a small table holding the corner down and the edge curled, its ends frayed. "Maybe he hid something underneath?"

  "Good thinking." He bent down to lift the rug.

  She sighed. "Nothing there."

  "I wouldn’t say nothing." He ripped a strip of duct tape from the underside of the carpet. A small gold key clanged to the floor. He glanced at Kendall and noticed she wasn’t sharing the excitement of his discovery. Her nose twitched and her face crinkled. "Do you smell som
ething?"

  The odor was pungent, sharp and unmistakable. "Shit. Gasoline. Get out," he ordered, shoving her roughly to the back exit. She stumbled to all fours. He lifted her and half-carried, half-pushed her forward. She let out a soft curse when they banged into something in the dark. They had a split second warning as a flash ignited. Kendall grunted as he tackled her and hurdled them out the back door and into the pitch-black water just as the boat exploded into a massive ball of flames.

  #

  Intense heat and searing pain stabbed Dorian in the back as they sunk down into the dark depths of Pine Lake. Kendall’s survival instinct kicked in and instead of waiting until gravity finished pulling them down, she flailed wildly for the surface. He tightened his grip on her and propelled them farther away from the flaming shards of shrapnel. She clawed at the arm around her waist, frantically trying to break his grip. With a powerful scissor kick, he brought them to the surface so she could breathe.

  As soon as they broke the plane, she gasped and choked, water spurting from her nose and mouth. Careful to keep her head above the surface as she expelled water from her lungs, he moved them farther into the shadows. He didn’t want the torch to spot them in case he stayed around to admire his handiwork. Spotlights from nearby boats snapped on and a crowd began gathering to watch the Lucky Lady paint the night sky a vibrant shade of crimson and orange.

  Kendall’s once-punishing grip on his forearm turned bracing as she held on for dear life, her lungs still clogged with lake water. Urging them into a hidden cove out of sight of the burning boat, he gripped her around the waist and peered into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

  With a shuddering cough, she nodded. "I’m sorry," she sputtered, wiping her eyes with the fingers of her left hand. "I gasped when the boat exploded and inhaled half of the lake on the first plunge." With a deep breath, her arms reached out to steady herself on his shoulders. He couldn’t stop the rough grunt of pain.

  "What is it?" Kendall’s hands roamed over his shoulders and back. She gasped and paddled around him. "Oh my God…your back is covered. Are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you bleeding?"

  "Kendall." He waited for her to quit babbling. "I’m fine. The neoprene caught most of it. Let’s just get back to the truck and then I may need your help getting some of this out."

  He yelped when she yanked out a piece that felt like it had become one with his scapula.

  "Oops, sorry."

  "Let’s get out of here," he suggested. And maybe find a quart of Jack Daniels. Damn, his back stung. They made their way to shore and he gingerly pulled himself from the water before turning to assist Kendall.

  "I can do it myself," she said, ignoring his proffered hand. "I don’t want to injure your back any more than it already is."

  "Just scratches," he scoffed, ignoring the pinpricks of pain where the pieces of wood and metal had penetrated the thick rubber suit. The trip back to the truck took forever. They navigated the dark sans flashlights since the ones he brought went up in a roaring ball of flames. Thankfully he had excellent night vision.

  They reached the Avalanche and with a splinter the size of a telephone pole prodding his ass, he knew he'd never be able to sit, let alone drive.

  "You’ll have to get us back to the cabin," he said, removing two blankets from a box in the bed of the truck. He draped one across the driver's seat and then opened the back door and tossed the other across the bench seat. He started to climb inside when a sharp pain stabbed his right butt cheek. "Uhh, what the hell was that," he hissed, glancing over his shoulder at Kendall. She held up a four-inch spike—three inches of which had surely been logged deep into his subcutis—for his inspection. "Sorry," she apologized, looking anything but, her lips curved at the tips. "It looked like it hurt."

  He massaged the spot. "A little warning would have been nice," he grumbled, easing himself inside on his stomach.

  He had to bend his knees with his feet in the air in order to fit inside. Kendall closed the door behind him and after arranging the other blanket on the driver’s seat, climbed inside. "Don’t be such a baby," she clucked.

  #

  Kendall pulled up to the cabin and killed the engine. She didn’t want to worry Dorian, but there was some serious shrapnel lodged in his back and thighs. It had to hurt.

  And he got it all protecting her.

  Grabbing the key from the center console, she scurried from the driver’s seat, opened the door and helped him slide out. He rummaged in the steel box in the truck bed and fished out a complex-looking first aid kit. Rushing in front of him, she stuck the key in the lock and opened the door, waiting for him to enter.

  He stopped on the porch. "We should do this outside so the pieces don't end up on the floor."

  "Good idea."

  Flipping on the outside light, she winced in sympathy at the look on his face. He started tugging the zipper down to peel off the Neoprene suit. She moved around to help him, gingerly easing the sleeves down his thick, muscular arms.

  "You must be in incredible pain," she murmured, noticing the sharp pieces of metal and wood protruding from his back. The neoprene had blocked most of the damage, but the sharper pieces pierced the tough fiber with the force of the explosion. As she peeled the suit down, all of the pieces came with it, leaving angry red wounds, some dripping blood, in its wake.

  "Nah," he downplayed. "Just a couple a scratches." His hissed inhale belied his casual words as one angry, jagged piece of metal ripped a hunk of skin from his lower back. "You might want to avert your eyes," he warned. "I’m not wearing anything underneath."

  "Please." Kendall made a scoffing sound. "I’ve seen naked butts before. Besides, this is a medical situation. It’s not like I’m going to get turned on by your bloody nakedness."

  He shrugged and eased the black suit down his hips and off, leaving his backside exposed to her eager eyes. She'd been wrong. She'd never seen a naked butt like this before. Muscular and firm, the twin globes just begged to be caressed. Even crisscrossed with bloody marks, they were perfection.

  "Something wrong?" he asked over her shoulder, completely comfortable with his nudity. And why wouldn’t he be? The man was built.

  "Uh, no…nothing wrong. Just checking this wound." She tapped his lower back as heat flooded her cheeks. She shook her head to gather her wits. "Go inside and lie down."

  As he eased to the couch, she scurried to her room to change out of her wetsuit and then padded to the bathroom and cranked the faucet to hot. She dampened one washcloth in the steamy liquid and grabbed a dry one before heading back to the patient. "We should go to the Emergency Room. Some of these could use stitches," she said as she eased down beside him.

  "There are butterfly strips in the kit," he informed her. "That’ll do."

  She noticed the open bottle of whiskey in his hand. "That part of your emergency supplies?"

  He took a healthy swig and "ahh-ed". "Every first aid kit should have some."

  With a smile, she opened the box and pulled out a pair of tweezers, cotton balls, a bottle of antiseptic and got to work. She doctored the cuts meticulously, wiping them first with the warm cloth to remove blood and then removing any stray pieces with the tweezers. After swiping an antiseptic-coated cotton ball over the cuts, she bandaged the deeper ones before moving on to the next injury. He had additional scars peppered over his body, ones that had healed. Two were distinctly round, unmistakable bullet wounds.

  Her hand paused as she encountered the smooth curve of his muscular bottom. Angry red scratches, some oozing blood, covered the taut planes. Her fingers itched to trace the hard curve, to feel the muscle she knew would be hard as a rock.

  Forcing the thoughts from her mind, she channeled her inner nurse, cleansing the wounds with detached professionalism before moving to his legs. The cuts were less frequent, but still required attention. By the time she finished, a light sheen of sweat covered her skin. Dorian’s body was truly a work of art, a masterpiece. Every muscle was clearly defined, covered by tan,
hair-roughened skin. Somewhere along the way, her heartbeat picked up speed. Her hands shook from the effort of holding back, her fingers craved to glide along that beautiful body.

  Suddenly she realized her hands had moved of their own volition and she was doing exactly what she fantasized about…stroking his warm skin.

  #

  Olivia knew she should be horrified making out in a car on a busy street with one of Chicago's finest, but she couldn't muster the energy to care. All of her focus was on Alex and his talented mouth. Before she realized it, she found herself being pulled across the seat, his hand straying under her shirt. He paused abruptly. "Not here." His voice was gruff and he looked surprised things got so out of control.

  She nodded and scooted back into her seat, a shaky hand pulling the seatbelt over her chest and buckling it into place. She never lost control. Never. Even when she'd been accused of leaking the name of a victim of a serial killer last year, it didn't rattle her, mostly because she knew she wasn't ultimately responsible.

  She was rattled now. Uncomfortably so. All thanks to the man sitting next to her, his hair mussed from her fingers. She didn't know him at all, had met him less than a day ago. Yet if he hadn't called a halt earlier, she wasn't sure she could've stopped at all.

  The ride to the cabin passed in silence, neither knowing what to say to ease the tension. Her nerves were on edge. After he shut the car off, he sat there, staring straight ahead. She took a deep breath.

  "Look, Alex—"

  It was all she got out before he unhooked her belt and lifted her over the console, his lips crushing hers. She felt drugged, and probably was from his kisses. Somehow he maneuvered them into the back seat, his weight pressing her into the cushion. He tore at her clothes while she did the same to his. Somehow he donned a condom and then she cried out in pleasure at the exquisite feel of him inside her.

  #

  Alex didn't think he would ever be able to move again. He was pretty sure his head just exploded. He'd never felt anything like that before…didn't think this kind of feeling even existed. He needed to move his weight off of Olivia but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. It was the small sound she made that had him lifting up to study her face. Her eyes were huge blue disks. He'd like to think he put that look on her face…shock that it had been so damn good. But he feared it was shock from what had happened. With their clothes mostly on. In the back of his department-issued sedan. His best friend just a few steps away.