Lawman Protection

by Cindi Myers

  “That’s what I got out of all that legalese,” Randall said. “He accuses us of trespassing on his property, harassing his employees and him, and making false accusations against him.”

  “We’ve had legitimate reasons to question him every time we’ve done so,” Graham said.

  “He thinks we’re picking on him because he’s rich,” Carmen said.

  Graham pulled out his phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Randall asked.

  “Not Prentice. No sense adding fuel to the fire.” A moment later, Graham connected with a federal attorney in Denver. Yes, he had received copies of the lawsuit. No, he didn’t think Prentice had grounds for legal action, but they needed to tread carefully. After ten minutes, Graham disconnected the call, feeling no calmer, but somewhat resigned.

  “Well?” Randall asked.

  “That was our lawyer. He says to back off Prentice for now and see how this plays out.” He sank into his chair and checked the clock. Only eleven. He still had a long day to get through. “Let’s get back to work.” He needed to type up the notes from the morning’s interviews, and come up with a list of questions to ask Emma. Emma again—why couldn’t he get her out of his thoughts for even half an hour? The woman was seriously messing with his head. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to remember where in his desk he’d stashed a bottle of aspirin.

  When he looked up, Carmen and Randall were still standing there, eyeing him nervously.

  “What is it?” he asked. He looked around. “And where is everyone else? What’s going on?”

  “There’s something else you need to see.” Carmen gestured toward the desk. “Under the legal papers.”

  “Where is everyone else?” Graham asked again.

  “They went out.” Randall looked as if he didn’t feel very well.

  Understanding dawned. “You two got the short straw,” he said. “You had to stay here with me and deliver the bad news.”

  “Something like that,” Carmen said.

  He sighed. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be much worse than the lawsuit. He set aside the legal documents and looked down at this morning’s edition of the Denver Post. The headline was about the latest fracas in the Middle East. “What am I supposed to be so upset about?” he asked.

  “Turn the paper over,” Carmen said. “Below the fold.”

  He flipped the paper and read the bold lettering splashed across the bottom third of the paper. At first, the words didn’t quite register, then his vision dimmed, his brain fogging with disbelief and rage. He blinked and read the words again. Link Between Starling Disappearance and Pilot’s Murder Goes Unexplored By Law Enforcement.

  He didn’t have to check the byline to know who had written the story, but he did, anyway. By Emma Wade, Post Western Slope Bureau.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma spent the morning in her home office waiting for Graham. She didn’t know whether he’d call to chew her out, or show up in person, but she was sure he’d have some response to the article in this morning’s paper. She hadn’t said anything in there that wasn’t true; she didn’t claim to have proof, only a suspicion, and had spent much of the piece pleading for the mysterious female client to come forth, if it was someone other than Lauren Starling.

  But she hadn’t pulled any punches, either. She’d found someone from the television station to say that they thought local authorities should be investigating every possible sighting of Ms. Starling, while someone else told how people often asked Lauren for her autograph. “She was—is—glamorous and beautiful and we all thought of her as a celebrity,” the coworker said.

  In case Graham showed up in person, Emma dressed carefully, in a formfitting gray pencil skirt, red V-neck sweater and the confidence-inspiring red heels. Maybe he hated her now, but it wouldn’t hurt to remind him what he was missing by making her his enemy.

  By eleven o’clock she wondered if he’d decided to ignore her. She hadn’t figured the captain would play things cool, but maybe she’d read him wrong. Maybe goading him this way hadn’t been the best approach to getting him moving.

  When the doorbell rang at eleven thirty, she jumped, heart pounding. The sight of Graham’s big profile—and scowling face—made her debate retreating to the bedroom and pretending not to be home. But she wasn’t a coward. She took a deep, steadying breath, and opened the door. “What took you so long?” she said, before he could speak.

  He moved forward, giving her no choice but to back up or be run over. “You did this deliberately,” he said, his voice low and ragged, eyes burning with rage.

  “You wouldn’t even listen to me yesterday,” she said. “You treated me like some crackpot off the street with a story I’d made up out of whole cloth. This was the only way I knew to get you to pay attention.”

  “You embarrassed me and my team in front of the whole state,” he said. “You couldn’t trust me to do my job.”

  “You weren’t doing your job.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she cursed the lapse. She needed to stay cool and detached, to not let him get to her.

  “I spent the morning at the airport, talking to people who knew Bobby Pace,” he said. “Trying to find this mysterious woman. I know how to do my job.”

  She swallowed. Uh-oh. “I... The way you acted yesterday, I didn’t think you took me seriously.”

  “Just because others before me didn’t listen to you, doesn’t mean I’d make the same mistake.” He took another step toward her, forcing her to move farther into the house. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, hands clenched at his sides. She ought to be terrified, but he didn’t frighten her. A sense of anticipation, of wondering what would happen next, made her a little unsteady on her feet, but determined to hold her ground.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  He moved closer, crowding her against the wall. In her heels, they were almost the same height; she looked him right in the eye and what she saw there made her insides feel molten. Graham Ellison wanted her, as fiercely as she wanted him. She moistened her suddenly dry lips, his eyes tracking the movement of her tongue.

  “You’re driving me crazy, did you know that?” he said, his voice almost a growl, the low cadence vibrating through her, like a physical touch.

  “There’s definitely a...connection,” she said, more breathily than she would have liked. She’d always prided herself on being able to hide her emotions from other people, a talent that came in handy as an investigative reporter. But with Graham she felt defenseless, stripped bare.

  “Why you?” he asked. “Why have I got it so bad for a woman who will bring me nothing but trouble?”

  “I’m not your enemy,” she said. “We both want a murderer brought to justice and a missing woman to be found safe.”

  “But I’ve got the law on my side. You’re just a loose cannon.” His gaze raked her, settling on the hint of cleavage at the neckline of her top.

  She pressed her shoulders against the wall and tilted her pelvis forward, brushing against him. “I think the wildness in me is part of the attraction,” she said. “You wouldn’t want a tame pet you could control.”

  In answer he put his hands on her hips and dragged her to him. His mouth crushed against her, fierce and demanding. She arched against him, a thrill racing through her at his strength and power. She slid her arms around his neck and slanted her lips more firmly against his, deepening the kiss. His heart hammered against her—or maybe that was the driving pulse in her own arteries.

  Still holding her against him, he abandoned her mouth and dipped his head to trace his tongue along the curve of her cleavage. “What are we going to do about these feelings we have for each other?” she asked.

  “I want to take you to bed and make love to you until we’re both too exhausted to think about it.�
�� He nuzzled at the side of her neck.

  “That...that sounds like a good plan.”

  He slid down the zipper at the side of her skirt and began pushing it down her hips. She grabbed his wrist. “Let’s go into the bedroom, where we’ll both be more comfortable.”

  Holding the skirt with one hand and him with the other, she led him into her room. She released him long enough to scoop Janey off the pillow and toss her gently in the hallway. She shut the door and faced him again. His eyes still burned with desire, but some of the earlier caution had returned. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

  “I think if we don’t do this, neither one of us is going to think about anything else when we’re together.”

  He nodded. “So, you’re just trying to get me out of your system.”

  “I don’t think shaking you is going to be as easy as all that.” She moved closer and undid the top button of his uniform shirt. “It will probably take a lot of effort and practice. Months.” She kissed the triangle of chest now exposed. “Even years.”

  She worked her way down his chest, unbuttoning and kissing, until she reached his navel, and the barrier of his utility belt. “I’ll take it from here,” he said, and pulled her up to kiss her once more, as his hands fumbled with the belt and trousers.

  She broke the kiss and pushed away. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Not far.” She slipped into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a condom, which she placed on the nightstand. “When you’re ready,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m ready all right.” He pushed down his pants and she saw how ready.

  “Captain, I’d say you were armed and dangerous.” She finished unzipping the skirt and let it drop, then pulled off her blouse, so that she stood in front of him in her underwear and the red heels.

  He grinned and reached for her. “Better than my best fantasies,” he said.

  She wasn’t the flat-stomached, thin-thighed, cellulite-free version of a woman popular with magazines and television shows, but the look in Graham’s eyes—and the eager movements of his stroking hands and caressing lips—told her he liked what he saw just fine. She’d vowed years ago to stop apologizing for her body and to focus on enjoying it. Graham made that vow easy to keep. In his arms she felt as sexy and womanly as she ever had.

  When they were both naked, they lay back on her bed. “When I saw that article in the Post, I was so angry,” he said.

  “So I gathered.” She suppressed a giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “When I opened my door and saw you standing there, you looked like a bull ready to charge.” She flattened her palm against his chest and pushed him back against the mattress. “You were magnificent. I wanted to tear your clothes off right there in the doorway.”

  “Oh, you did?” He smoothed his hand along the curve of her hip. “Part of me was glad about the article, too. Because it gave me an excuse to come over and see you.” He kissed her, long and deep, until she was dizzy and out of breath. He cupped his hand between her thighs and she moaned, a fresh wave of need and longing engulfing her.

  He rolled her over, until she was pinned beneath him, then he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, all while his fingers played between her legs.

  She writhed beneath him, incoherent with desire. She could feel his erection pressed against her thigh, hot and heavy. He planted his knee firmly between her thighs. “You are a wild one, aren’t you?”

  She stared up at him, unspeaking, waiting to see what he would do. He took the condom from the nightstand and ripped open the packet, then slowly rolled it on. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I’ve been ready.” She wrapped her hand around him, guiding him toward her. “Stop wasting time.”

  He laughed and entered her, filling her, his laughter vibrating through her. He was always such a serious man—that he could laugh while making love to her made her feel a sudden tenderness for him, even as the passion between them began to build once more. She tightened around him, gratified by the glazed look that came into his eyes, and the long sigh that escaped from his lips. They moved together, meeting each other stroke for stroke, and she wanted to shout for the joy of it.

  She did shout when her climax overtook her, and wrapped her legs around him, holding him to her as he found his own release. She reveled in the strength of his muscles moving against her, and the hard pounding of their hearts, almost in unison. She continued to hold him as he gently slid from her and lay beside her. Eyes closed, he breathed heavily, his face pressed against her neck.

  “That was pretty incredible,” he said after a while.

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes, the afterglow of great sex humming through her. “It was.” And Graham Ellison was pretty incredible, too. Handsome, strong, sexy—also stubborn, opinionated and too harsh in his judgment of the press. But she wasn’t going to think about that right now. She wasn’t going to think about anything but how right it felt to be with him in this moment, however fleeting the sensation might last.

  * * *

  GRAHAM CRADLED EMMA’S head on his shoulder, eyes closed, half dozing. He couldn’t believe his luck, ending up with this gorgeous, sexy woman. And she was right—he wouldn’t be as happy with a woman with no spirit. He liked that she stood up to him, no matter how much she aggravated him at times.

  He leaned over and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of roses and vanilla.

  And smoke.

  The acrid stench of burning wood and wiring brought him fully awake. He shook Emma. “Get up! The house is on fire!” Smoke curled around the bedroom door, a gray ghost of horror.

  “Wh-what?” She sat up, hair tousled, clutching at the sheets.

  “The house is on fire. We have to get out of here.” He found his pants on the floor by the bed and began putting them on.

  Emma stumbled out of bed and pulled on her robe. She looked around, frantic.

  “Shoes,” Graham instructed, shoving his sockless feet into his boots. He moved to the door and pressed his palm against it. It wasn’t hot. A peek into the hallway showed the fire hadn’t yet reached this far, though the glow of orange flame and the crackle of collapsing wood told him the front room was ablaze.

  He returned to Emma and grabbed her hand. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Wordlessly, she followed him to the kitchen. Though smoke filled the room, it was flame-free and he was able to lead them to the back door. With his free hand, he felt in his pocket for his phone. As soon as they were both in the clear, he’d call for help. He jerked open the door, cool air bathing them like a soothing balm.

  They were almost down the back steps when Emma jerked from his grasp. “Janey!” she cried. “I have to get Janey!” She turned and raced back into the house, back into the smoke and flames.

  Chapter Nine

  “Emma, no!” Graham lunged for her, but she slipped from his grasp. He raced after her, but got only as far as the kitchen door before smoke and heat forced him back. His eyes stung and his lungs burned as he tried to see through the dense black smoke. “Emma!” he shouted, but could barely hear his own voice over the pop and crackle of the flames.

  Had she headed back to the bedroom, or to the front room? He had no way of knowing, and both rooms appeared to be a wall of smoke and flame. Reluctantly, he retreated to the back door, driven back by the ferocity of the blaze. As he stumbled down the steps, sirens wailed in the distance; a neighbor or passerby must have seen the fire and called it in.

  Someone grasped him by his shoulders: a balding man in glasses and wide, frightened eyes. “Are you all right?” the man asked.

  Graham nodded and coughed. “There’s a woman still inside.”

  “Emma?”

  “Yes.” Th
rough eyes still stinging from smoke, he stared at the burning house, now fully engulfed in flames.

  The man looked even more frightened. “I don’t think anyone’s coming out of there,” he said.

  The idea enraged Graham. Why had he let her go? Why hadn’t he held on and insisted she come with him? He scanned the back of the house and found the bedroom window. If she’d gone that way, maybe he could reach her.

  He shoved to his feet, jogged to the window and tried to pull it up, but it refused to yield. He looked around and spotted a large ceramic flowerpot. He jerked up the heavy pot and hurled it through the window, then stuck his head inside. “Emma!”

  “Graham?” Her voice was faint and choked.

  “Emma! I’m at the window.”

  A moment later, she emerged from the blackness, and thrust a bundle into his hands. “Take Janey,” she commanded.

  He took the cat, which was wrapped in a towel, and tucked it into the crook of one arm, then reached for Emma with the other. She tumbled out the window, onto the ground beside him, her face streaked with smoke, her robe scorched from cinders.

  He half carried her, half dragged her farther from the burning building. “If I weren’t so happy to see you, I’d wring your neck,” he said, kneeling beside her and cradling her face in his hand.

  “I had to get Janey.” She stroked the cat, who had poked her head out of the towel and was looking around, unharmed. “She was right outside the bedroom door, crying for me.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Graham felt drained.

  Emma’s gaze shifted to the house, which was fully engulfed now. “Thank God, you woke up when you did,” she said. “What happened? I hadn’t been cooking or anything when you arrived.”

  “I don’t think this was an ordinary cooking fire.” The blaze had been too intense, and had spread too quickly. He studied the burning house, then his gaze shifted to a trio of gas cans on the sidewalk in front of the house. “Those cans weren’t there before,” he said. As distracted and angry as he had been when he’d arrived, he would have noticed something that obvious.