After he’d saved Case’s life. He’d sensed something was wrong one day when they were out on patrol and yanked K.C. out of the way of a long-forgotten IED before it took his leg off. Afterward, with both of them bruised and singed, lying entwined like lovers on the ground, a fine rain of sand falling over them from the explosion, K.C. had grinned and said those nine words in a smoke-choked voice. About a month later, Case gave him the Ruger as a thank you as well as a going home present. A day after that, an RPG tore into K.C. and Jacob’s tent, blowing Case to the heavens and leaving Jacob wheelchair bound for the rest of his life.
Pru smiled softly. “You miss him.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, one quick jerk of his head, because if he made any other movement the tears suddenly burning behind his eyes would spill out. “Every single day. After Nick, he was my closest friend.”
Pru was silent for a moment, tracing a finger over the engraving. “Can you show me how to shoot it?”
The question took him by surprise. “Uh, sure.”
She gazed up, waiting.
“You mean now?”
“Why not? I have no close neighbors. As long as we don’t actually shoot it, we won’t bother anyone.”
He shrugged. “Sure, why not? I’ll give you a crash course.” He took the Ruger from her and cracked it open, removing the five bullets. He replaced the revolver in her hand, guiding her pointer finger against the trigger guard. Her hands were so soft and felt tiny in his. “There you go. Get a feel for it.”
“It’s light.”
“It’s meant to be. Easy to conceal, easy to carry.” He crossed into the dining room, grabbed a two-by-four from the stack against the far wall, and returned to the kitchen to prop it up with a chair.
“This is our bad guy.” He snagged her Red Sox baseball cap off the peg by the back door and his sunglasses from the counter, placing them both on the board to imitate a man. “I want you to aim at him.”
Pru giggled and he again found himself grinning like a maniac.
“He doesn’t look too scary,” she pointed out. “Plus he’s a Sox fan. I can’t shoot a Sox fan. Now if he had a Yankees hat on ….”
“Shoot our bad guy, smart ass.”
“Okay, okay.” She took aim Hollywood-style. “Am I doing this right?”
“Uh, not exactly.” He crossed the room in three long strides and stood behind her, directing her hands with his arms enveloping her. Her feminine scent laced with strawberry invaded his nose every time she moved and his dick twitched. So lovely. Like pure, soft sin. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and inhale.
Ignore it. Concentrate. She needs to know this for her own safety.
He drew a breath, well away from her. “Okay, first, tighten up your grip. Guns are like bosses. They don’t like people with weak handshakes.”
“Gotcha.”
“You’re right-handed, so close your left hand around the left side of the frame, aligning your thumbs to point downrange. To avoid an accident, always point downrange and make sure your finger is on the trigger guard and not on the trigger until you’re actually going to shoot.”
“What exactly is a triggah guahd, anyway?” she asked.
“Ah, it’s this little piece right here over the trigg—” He noticed her lips twitching and realized she was making fun of his accent. He stepped back and crossed his arms, battling between amusement and annoyance. Amusement won and he couldn’t quite suppress the smile. “You wanna learn this or not?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, then blurted, “Just so long as it’s not too hahd.”
“Pru…”
“Okay, okay! I’ll stop.” She positioned her hands on the gun. “Now what?”
He shook his head in exasperation and his palm glided up the silky skin of her bare arm. “The elbow of your right hand should be nearly straight.” His hands dropped to cup her waist. “Turn your body and balance with your feet shoulder-width apart. Your left foot should be in front.”
“It feels a little strange. Awkward.”
“You’ll get used to it with practice.” He leaned down, his lips next to her ear. God, that scent was wonderful. He couldn’t help but drink it in as he guided the gun up. “When you’re aiming, you want to keep both eyes open. Two eyes are better than one.”
She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. “Okay.”
“Imagine a chest on our Sox fan over there and aim for center mass. Now draw a breath, exhale, and pull the trigger with constant pressure. Don’t yank it or you’ll throw off your aim. Remember you only have a couple shots.”
The gun clicked. Neither of them moved.
“That, babe,” Alex whispered in the shell of her ear, “would stop any attacker in his tracks.”
“Mmm.” The gun dropped to her side and her body pressed back into his. Her eyes shut and her breaths came out a little faster. “You’re a good teacher.”
He snaked an arm around her waist and his hand splayed across her belly, holding her against him, pressed the length of his erection against her ass. She shuddered as he nuzzled her ear and glossy hair tickled his nose. He wanted to bury his hands in it, turn her around and devour those pale, trembling lips.
Hell.
A squeak escaped her throat as he spun her and dropped his mouth to hers, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she melted against him, mouth opening under his coaxing. Her arms coiled around his waist and her fingers traced his spine to the small of his back, raising goosebumps in their wake. She hesitated only a second, and then dipped her fingers under the band of his pants, encouraging him to do a little exploring himself.
Thrilled, he let his hands wander from her waist to cup her lovely ass under her T-shirt. Round and soft, skin smooth, and—oh shit, she was wearing lacy panties, a scrap of fabric so sexy that he started entertaining ideas of doing her while she still wore it. His cock perked up, totally on board with that idea as it strained for her through his pajama bottoms and his hips surged on their own accord.
Slow down, boy. While his mini-me was all about the bump and grind, he planned to savor this for as long as possible. He pulled back a little and nipped her lower lip. “I figured it out.”
“Huh?” She looked up, those big, baby blues of hers dazed with lust.
“I figured out why you really took me to Grandma Mae’s today. You were looking for her approval. Did she give it?”
Her lips, beautifully swollen and wet from his kiss, curved upward in a guilty arch. “She approves wholeheartedly.” She blushed pink to the tips of her ears and squirmed away from him long enough to reach for her purse on the counter. After digging around for a moment, she held up a square tinfoil package. “She even gave me this.”
A condom.
Well, a guy couldn’t get more of an invitation than that.
His gut clenched as his erection went from a half-mast boner to a raging, demanding hard-on. He crushed his mouth to hers and backed her up against the counter as his hands crept underneath the T-shirt to her nearly nude body.
Moaning against his lips as his palms skimmed over her breasts, she lifted herself onto the counter. Alex levered her knees apart with his hip and nestled between her thighs. Longs legs wound around his waist and locked at the small of his back.
He could feel her heat, her readiness, through the thin barrier of clothes separating them. His brain sizzled with carnal instinct, blocking out faint protests still gnawing on the back of his mind. He wanted her clothes off. He wanted his off. Most of all, he wanted to sheath himself inside her warmth, possess her, make her his woman. He let his hands wander to her ass and traced the cleft with one finger. The delicate shudder that went through her about did him in right there.
Knotting the stupid sleep shirt in his fists, he was all ready to rip it off and take her right there on the counter, when a chill that had nothing to do with sexual arousal scraped down his spine. It was enough to jolt a little reason back into him. The window over the sink was no longer black, but glowing soft pi
nk with the first rays of sunlight sneaking through the morning fog.
Alex dragged his mouth from hers, gasping. “We need a bed.”
“Mmm.” She nipped his earlobe. “My room or yours?”
“Yours.” The decision was a no-brainer. Her room was closer, which meant he could bury himself to the hilt inside her in the next minute. He scooped her into his arms and stumbled in the direction of her bedroom, swaying drunkenly past the grandfather clock and chiffonier in the foyer. She kissed his neck and then tasted his skin with the tip of her tongue. He shivered.
Even with his senses muffled and dulled to his surroundings, he was aware of every aspect of her body: the evocative scent of woman and strawberry shampoo, the sweet and salty taste of satin-soft skin, the curve of full, aroused breasts that moved every time she drew a quivering breath. All that combined with her tentative kisses and licks nearly brought him to climax. He set his back teeth. He’d never before wanted a woman so much that he couldn’t control himself.
Frustrated, he swept a handful of framed photos aside, plopped her down on top of the chiffonier and pressed her back to the gilded oblong mirror on the wall behind it. Using his weight to pin her immobile, he kissed her with bruising force just because he could not take another second of not having his lips against hers.
Pru’s hands flew up to grip his shoulders as he buried his face in the crook of her neck to give himself a minute to calm down. Her scent assaulted his nose. He’d never be able to eat a strawberry again without getting a hard-on.
Pru held him close to her chest, his cheek pillowed on her small but lovely breast, and he could hear the frantic drum of her heart. At least she was as aroused as he was. Behind her, the mirror reflected them as one being, a wild twist of arms and legs and tousled hair that made him smile.
Again, her tongue flicked experimentally, tracing his ear.
“Jesus, Pru.” Every muscle in his body contracted as pleasure curled inside him. His dick felt so thick and heavy he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk the rest of the way to the bedroom. He thrust his hips forward, grinding against her in a pantomime of the movements he so wanted to do horizontally, on top of her, naked in her bed. She let out a long, low moan, matching his movements. He caught her hips and held her still. Had to get control—had to—or he wouldn’t last thirty seconds.
Pru curled her fingers into the band of his pants and tried to pull him forward.
“Wait.” He stepped back and scooped her into his arms again. He wanted their first time to be in a bed, warm and cozy, where he could take the time to do her right.
“No. No waiting. Not now.” She closed her lips around his earlobe and wrapped her thighs around his middle. A tremble started in his gut and earthquaked down his legs. His muscles threatened to collapse under the onslaught and he had to catch himself with a hand on the chiffonier.
“Pru,” he groaned her name. “Ah, baby, I can’t take much more foreplay.”
“Okay.” Legs tight, she arched toward him, pressing her slick heat to his glans as it peeked out from the slit in his pants. The contact was electric. “I want you inside me, Alex. Now.”
All right, forget the bed. He jostled her around, trying to find the chiffonier again. Laid her across it, knocking more photos to the floor. He pulled off her panties and stepped back to kick his pants off when he noticed their reflection again. Her eyes wide, all pupil with a rim of blue, her parted lips swollen and wet, a flush high on her cheeks, her hair in tangles as she lay spread across the antique like an offering. He was bedraggled, his hair in disarray from her hands, his own lips bruised, eyes hooded and bright with lust, chest heaving. The mirror confirmed it—the two of them together like this was so right.
Alex grinned at the reflection, hooked his thumbs in the band of his pants, and the mirror shattered.
Every sense kicked back into high gear as glass exploded into shrapnel. He scooped Pru up and plopped her on the floor between the chiffonier and grandfather clock, while looking for the source of the shot from a defensive crouch. The hall and living room were empty, and no one stood on the stairs with a gun aimed at Pru.
“Stay down,” he ordered and grabbed the Ruger that was surprisingly still clenched in her hand, remembering too late that he had removed the bullets and cursing himself for setting down his own piece in the kitchen. He flattened his body against the wall and peeked around the corner into the dining room. Empty. Slowly, he crossed to the front door and tested the knob. Still locked, all the windows intact.
What the hell?
He threw the door open and stepped out onto the porch. The October air hit his bare chest like a baton, knocking him completely back to his senses.
The yard was empty.
Where had the shot come from?
Alex dragged a hand over his jaw and turned. Pru, as usual, had ignored his commands and swept up the remains of the mirror with a broom and dustpan.
He scanned the yard one last time then went into the house, shutting the door behind him.
***
Pru watched as Alex strode back into the house. There was something different about him now. Square jaw clenched, gray eyes guarded. She was so wet for him she felt the moisture dripping down her leg, but whatever they’d had a minute ago was now gone. Disappointment stole through her blood, but she refused to let it show.
Instead, she went back to cleaning up the broken mirror. “You are a jumpy one.”
He stopped several inches out of arm’s reach. “Someone is trying to hurt you, Pru.”
She stiffened for a split-second. His tone was so hard, so certain ….
“You’re ridiculous.” She set the broom and full dustpan aside, dusted her hands off on her shirt, and started straightening the photos they had knocked over in their moment of lust. “As I told you before, this happens sometimes. It’s the Green Lady. She doesn’t like men.”
“And you say I’m ridiculous? Listen to yourself. A bullet breaking the mirror is a hell of a lot easier to swallow than a ghost!”
“Maybe for you. Where’s the bullet, Alex?” She opened her arms, turning in a circle. “I didn’t find it while sweeping up the glass. It’s not in the mirror or the wall.”
He opened his mouth to reply, glanced around the hallway, and then closed it again without uttering a sound.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he finally said, enunciating each word.
She pointed a finger at his scarred chest, at the small gold cross swinging from the chain around his neck. “And yet you believe that if you get down on your knees every night and pray, God will forgive your sins and save your soul?”
His jaw tightened until a muscle ticked below his eye.
“No,” he said after a long second and stalked toward the stairs. “I don’t believe that either. My soul can’t be saved, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
CHAPTER 18
Sheriff Forbes rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger and leveled a hard stare across his desk at Helen Mallory. Having her show up at his office to report another “crime” was nothing new and normally, he would indulge her. After all, she was the wife of the mayor, one of Forbes’s biggest backers. It was all politics. But today, with Wade’s body still at the funeral home, Alex Locke—that city asshole who was present for what was now officially an accidental death—still hanging around Pru, and Lila VanBuran’s family breathing down his neck for some new clues to her disappearance, Forbes had no time for his own indulgences, not to mention Helen’s.
“Something’s wrong, Sheriff,” she continued to rant. This morning the preposterous woman had her blonde hair tied up in a tight bun, her lips painted an obnoxious shade of red, her nails like maroon talons as she grasped a bucket-sized purse on her lap. “Kevin hasn’t been home in days.”
“Kevin’s a grown man,” he pointed out.
“He is not. He’s my child, and needs constant, mature supervision.”
“Helen—Mrs. Mallory,” he corrected when she ar
ched a regal brow and gave him a supercilious stare. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. They’d been classmates from kindergarten on through high school. After a football game his senior year, she’d let him, the conquering hero quarterback all pumped up on testosterone and adrenaline, fuck her brains out in the backseat of his old Camaro. And now she insisted he call her Mrs. Mallory. What a crock.
“If you want to fill out a missing persons report for Kev, go on out and talk to Rhett. He’ll get all the paperwork around for you.”
She scowled at him, the look in her eyes much like bull’s stare before it ran you down. “You’re not going to do anything else? He’s the mayor’s son!”
“Yes,” Forbes said, mustering every ounce of patience he possessed, “I know. Just what does Richard think about this?”
Her lips pursed as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “He’s been busy.”
Meaning Richard thought the same thing as Forbes. Kevin, at thirty years old, was a grown man beaten down by an overbearing mother and probably took off for a couple days. He’d crawl back home when he ran out of money. Wasn’t the first time the kid had pulled a stunt like this.
Forbes tried to hold in a sigh and didn’t manage it. “If you’re truly worried, Helen, fill out the report and I’ll send some men to ask around.”
“That’s it?”
Had she expected him to call out the National Guard? Knowing her flair for the dramatic, most likely. Forbes spread his hands in a sorry-but-that’s-the-way-it-is gesture. “Unless you have proof of foul play, I’m afraid that’s all I can do now.”
Helen opened her mouth. Closed it and gritted her teeth in a tight, white smile as she stood. “I think you’ve gotten too cushy in this job, Bernard. I plan to speak to my husband about it. Don’t expect his backing during the next election.”
Forbes sat back in his seat and watched her march from his office. In the deputy squad room, Rhett stopped her with a hand on her arm. She snapped off a sentence at him, spun on her heel, and sulked out.
That woman was something else. Forbes pushed out of his chair, crossed to the window that overlooked the intersection of Main and Penobscot, where Mae’s Diner sat, and watched Helen huff her way across the street.
Vision of Darkness (D.I.E. Squadron Book 1) Page 17