by C. A. Szarek
Her sex throbbed and he hadn’t even touched her there yet.
“Touch me, Pete.” The whisper sounded desperate to her ears, but her detective didn’t make her wait.
Air hit her at all angles as he pushed her shirt up, exposing her bra and her hips when he tugged her zipper down and pushed the denim out of the way. Without preamble, he shoved his hand into her pants, pushing into her panties. But he leant down at the same time, popping one breast out of the frilly pink lace cup. He fondled her hard nipple with nimble fingers before enclosing it with his hot mouth and teasing with his tongue.
She moaned and threw her head back, her body swallowed by multiple sensations. Pleasure rolled over her and she writhed.
His fingertips on her clit had her trembling and begging for more. Nikki lifted up, rocking into the sure movements that circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Desire flooded her. She was wet and achy. For him.
Pete was relentless, rubbing until her sex pulsed from the inside out. She needed him lower, inside her.
He moved his tongue in tandem with his seeking fingers and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
As if he’d read her mind, he slipped one finger lower, parting her slick folds and dipping inside her. The confines of her jeans didn’t allow for deep thrusts, but the friction was enough to bring her close to the edge.
Nikki called his name and buried her hands in his hair.
He rocked forward, his erection hard and long against her hip through his jeans. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to see him, touch him. Have him inside her.
Pete’s teeth teased her nipple and she screamed. It was too much. She arched into him and gripped his thick shoulders with both hands, nails digging in.
As the orgasm roared over Nikki, the first gunshot shattered the living room window.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Luca spat. That fucking idiot had actually taken a shot at the house.
Mickey moved in after he’d shot out the bay window facing the street in soccer-mom-land, firing his forty several more times at the two-storey brick monster of a house. Caselli’s stupid nephew ran right up the porch steps and kicked in the front door.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Luca slammed the driver side door of the pickup he’d jacked to follow his colleague around. It hadn’t taken him long to find him today, but Mickey didn’t know he was disobeying a direct order from the boss.
For the past few days, Mickey had been leaving on his own, following the redheaded chick, obviously. He’d found her without Luca’s help. Small town or not, maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all.
It’d taken Luca all damn day to find him after he’d gone out to the Circle Bar B.
Mickey wouldn’t let the kill-the-witnesses thing drop. He hadn’t been all that concerned that Luca had seen law enforcement on Berto’s property. He’d just insisted they’d kill Berto as his uncle had commanded. In due time. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Mickey had said. Like he was running this show. That alone had pissed Luca off enough to stay close-lipped about Caselli’s order to leave the witnesses alone.
“Fuck. That.” Yanking his Beretta out of his waistband, Luca pulled back the slide to chamber a round, cursing in English and Italian.
He was really going to have to kill the boss’s nephew.
There was no other choice. Good damn thing he had the balls to do it. Would even take pleasure in it. Mickey had always been a little shit.
Mickey yelled and several more gunshots went off.
Someone in the house was returning fire. Two windows shattered. Luca ducked and dodged as he jumped onto the porch and flattened himself against the house next to the open door.
A deep male voice shouted orders and Luca whipped into the house. Mickey was facing off with what had to be a cop. The blond guy commanded Caselli’s nephew to lower his weapon, but of course his friend was non-compliant.
Luca did a quick visual sweep of the room. Glass everywhere. All four of the windows were either sporting holes or completely gone. The closest exit was the front door. Stairs to the right and a dark hallway to the left. There was probably a back door through the kitchen but he wouldn’t chance the unknown.
The redheaded chick was lying flat on her back behind a large L-shaped brown sofa. Her legs were obscured, as if she’d been running for cover but hadn’t quite made it. The cop was crouched in front of her, gun raised.
Her long red hair was spread out like a curtain on the carpet and her head was to one side, neck at an odd angle. There was a starburst of darker red spreading through the grey fabric of her tee but he couldn’t tell where she was actually hit, side or shoulder. Arm?
Holy shit, her jeans were open, and her shirt was up. Too bad he was too far away to see her tits. Looked like Mickey had interrupted a hell of a good time.
She was too still. That stupid fucker had probably killed her.
“God damn it,” Luca muttered, raising his Beretta.
The cop cursed savagely when he saw Luca, but didn’t move his gun off Mickey. He didn’t need to worry about lil’ ol’ Luca.
“I told you to stay away from this,” Luca barked.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mickey growled, but didn’t move his gun away from the cop, either. Barely even spared him a glance.
Good. Won’t be hard to fix this.
The cop watched them like a tennis match.
Luca heard sirens and frowned. Mickey’s dark eyes widened as Luca aimed, but he didn’t speak or beg. Maybe he was too stupid to realise what Luca intended.
He pulled the trigger and dropped Mickey like the sack of shit he was. One shot to the head and Caselli’s idiot nephew was dead.
“Gotta go,” Luca said to the cop, raising his hands in submission, despite the Beretta in his right one. “Sorry about the mess.”
The cop took a few shots at him, but Luca turned on his heel and beat feet to the door, slamming it behind him even though it wouldn’t stop a bullet. He leapt down the three porch stairs then ran down the street. The truck he’d stolen was no good for round two.
Tyres screeched to a halt and sirens blared as three police cars stopped outside the house. Luca ducked behind the side of the closest residence, peeking around in time to hear the pounding of boots up the porch steps and the shouts of “Police!”
He didn’t stay to watch.
Chapter Thirteen
Panic surged like never before in his life as Pete hit his knees beside Nikki. His hands shook as he holstered his weapon, and it had taken a couple of tries. She was too still.
“No.” The whisper was anguished even to his own ears. He pressed two fingers to her neck. Her pulse pushed back, thundering under his fingertips. “Thank God,” he breathed.
Cops poured into the living room and Pete took a moment to yank Nikki’s shirt down over her exposed breasts and zip her jeans.
This was all his fault. Selfish bastard.
“Crane, we’ve secured the perimeter. Suspect is nowhere in sight.” Officer Eric Bartlett holstered his gun and came closer.
“Ambulance just pulled up. Are you hit?” Chloe asked as she strode into the room. She kneeled, joining him on the carpet.
“No. Just Nikki.” His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat—twice.
“This one’s dead,” another cop called out.
He looked over his shoulder to see one of the guys squatted down next to Mickey Donati.
“Pete, she’s gonna be okay. Breathing is great, heart rate is strong.” The sergeant pushed Nikki’s red locks out of her face after she checked vitals. “Looks like she has a bump on the head. Bullet hit her right arm, but it could have been worse. ”
Two paramedics shouldered them out of the way and Pete stood. Numbness swallowed him whole as he forced himself to back up. His arms shook but he ignored them and locked his knees so his legs wouldn’t wobble.
What the fuck happened? The question didn’t go unanswered as his conscience fired back. You were thinkin
g with your dick. And she got hurt, asshole. Shot. She got shot.
“Chief Martin and Agent Dawson are on their way. You’ll have to give up your weapon. Ballistics will need it.” Chloe’s voice pulled him out of his head. “I’ll help Manning or whoever takes over if he benches you ’cause of the shooting.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
Her pale blue eyes widened, and she cocked her head to one side, shifting her light brown ponytail. “What?”
“Luciano Marchetti killed him.”
“What the hell?” the sergeant muttered.
“That’s what I said.”
Nikki moaned as the two paramedics raised the gurney and Pete jolted forward, shoving the guy out of his way.
“Pete?” Her groggy voice made his heart leap.
He grabbed the hand of her uninjured arm and met her wide brown eyes. “I’m here. Right here. You’re okay, darlin’.” He wanted to kiss her but didn’t. Chided himself for the urge. Thoughts like that had got her hurt in the first place.
“Pounding headache. My arm hurts…” She moved her head back and forth on the cushion of the gurney.
“You got shot, darlin’, but it’s not bad. Promise.”
“Detective, we need to take her.”
Pete wanted to growl at the stupid medic, but he didn’t. He backed up, reluctantly letting go of her hand.
“Pete, don’t leave me.” Her panicked tone made his stomach flutter.
He glared until the paramedic stopped the gurney again and moved out of his way. He caressed Nikki’s cheek and smiled down at her. “You couldn’t make me leave you, sweetness. I’m right here.”
Her expression softened and she sighed, easing her gorgeous brown eyes shut. “Thank you, Detective.”
Pete’s heart went into overdrive as he stepped back and let the paramedics take her from the living room. He glanced at Chloe.
“Go with her. I got this. I’ll talk to Chief and send your FBI agent your way. I already got my guys canvassing.”
He nodded, because if he spoke he’d say something stupid.
* * * *
Pete watched her feet dangle off the bed in the emergency room as the doctor patched up her arm. It wasn’t bad. A graze that had torn the skin of her right biceps. Some stitches should do it.
After he’d held her hand in the ambulance, she’d come around and calmed. Nikki had thanked him and kissed his knuckles. Making him feel like more of an ass.
He should feel better that she wasn’t badly hurt, but guilt swallowed him whole.
Your fault. Your fault.
The two accusatory words reverberated in his brain, becoming a crappy mantra of blame he couldn’t quash.
He’d lost control. Of himself. Of the situation. Sucked into her. And she’d been hurt. It could have been worse than her arm. She could be dead.
Pain constricted his chest that all the breaths in the world failed to fix.
Failed was a good word, too. He’d failed in his duties to protect her. He’d failed in his vow to himself not to touch her. Kiss her. Hold her.
All-around failure.
She smiled over the doctor’s shoulder and Pete wanted to tell her not to bother. It sure as hell didn’t fix the pain in his gut…in his heart.
The sweet curve of her lips reminded him how she’d tasted. The feel of her mouth under his. Her every supple curve against his body.
Seeing her climax, the flush on her cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes of chocolate, the heaving of her gorgeous naked breasts as she’d panted through it. The hard little buds of her nipples and the feel of her skin on his tongue.
He’d almost come in his damn jeans, and she hadn’t even touched him. He wanted her to touch him, wanted her hands on his bare skin, pulling him close. He ached for her. And it was wrong. For so many reasons.
“Pete, I’m okay.” Her voice was even and calm.
“I know it,” he croaked.
“Then why do you look like your best friend died?”
“You’re good as new, Miss Harper.” The young doctor’s statement prevented Pete from answering Nikki—Thank God.
The guy in green scrubs patted her uninjured shoulder and flashed a smile that could have only been considered flirty.
Pete bit back a growl. “Can we go then?”
“As soon as the nurse checks you out, Detective.” The doctor appraised him with wide blue eyes.
Even Nikki was looking at him with an arched brow and an expression that said What’s your problem?
Shit, shoulda dialled back the tone. Pete cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“Do you need any pain meds?” the doctor asked Nikki.
She shook her head. “If I need something, I’ll get it from the drug store. High-powered stuff always makes me feel like crap. I’d rather deal.”
He nodded and excused himself.
Pete couldn’t help the glare he sent the doctor’s way. He pushed off the wall he’d been holding up and went to her bedside.
“Hey, dude. He wasn’t the one who shot me.” Nikki’s tone was amused. Her head was cocked to one side, as if she were trying to figure him out.
He shifted on his feet. Opened his mouth to answer, but his phone blared from his pocket. “Crane,” he said without looking at the screen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Nikki’s brown ones.
“How’s Nikki? And what the hell happened, Crane?” Chief Martin shouted in his ear without preamble.
Pete winced. He’d known this was coming. He preferred the conversation over the phone rather than have his boss scream in his face in person, for sure. “She’s okay.”
Nikki’s gaze sharpened. No doubt she could hear Chief.
“What the hell happened?” The repeated question was at the same volume and Nikki echoed his wince.
“Caselli’s guys burst in, boss.”
“Where the hell were you?”
Seriously, Chief was going to lose his voice if he didn’t stop screaming. Pete held the iPhone away from his head. “We were in the living room. Together.”
Nikki averted her eyes. Pete sighed as their boss’s rant continued. There wasn’t much he could say. Chief couldn’t beat the shit out of him—mentally anyway—more than he already was.
Then the tirade started in on Pete himself.
Nikki snatched his cell out of his hand. “Knock it off,” she barked.
He reared back at her sharp tone and tight expression.
Damn, his little redhead was pissed.
“First of all, I am fine. Detective Crane has done everything possible to protect me. Taken me everywhere with him for three days. He’s not psychic. Even you thought they’d make a go for me. This isn’t Pete’s fault. So knock it off, before he tells you to screw yourself and quits. Then who’ll protect me?”
Silence on the other end of the phone.
No. Way.
Pete bit back a smile. He almost thanked her for the vote of confidence, but he kind of agreed with his boss. He had failed.
Dammit.
He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair for the hundredth time that night.
After a solid thirty seconds of silence, their boss cleared his throat. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I am.” Nikki softened her voice and met Pete’s eyes finally. “I have no doubt Pete will keep me safe.”
“Can I talk to Crane—please.” The please was definitely an after-thought.
“As long as you won’t yell at him.”
Chief said nothing.
“I’m here,” Pete said.
“You didn’t kill Donati?”
“No, sir. Marchetti did. Came right in and popped him.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, pretty much what I said, except he kinda saved our asses. Close-quarters shootout is where I was at,” Pete said, shaking his head.
“Dawson’s on her way to the hospital. She’s pretty puzzled, too. Get with Lucas in the a.m. and see what the hell he thinks. But tell hi
m to stay home. I don’t want to see him at the station. There are phones for a reason. And check on Alberto Carbone. I called Health Solutions and sent another officer over. Tell Nikki her grandmother is fine. I also doubled the guard on Maria Mata at the hospital.”
“You working my case, boss?” The words were out of his mouth before he paused to think about them. He shouldn’t have pushed the man when his girl had had to save his ass.
His girl?
Nope. She’d never be his girl. Thought we’d decided to forget everything? And since when had he started referring to himself as we? Pete was losing it.
“You saying no to my help?”
“No way, boss. Sorry.”
Chief harrumphed. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
“Take Nikki to your place tonight. Best we’ve got on short notice.”
“My place?” Pete choked on his words.
Nikki narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
“That an issue?” his boss asked.
“No, sir.”
* * * *
“‘I told you to stay away from this.’ He said that?” Lee frowned, leaning forward on the edge of Pete’s black leather ottoman.
He nodded.
Nikki yawned loudly from her seat beside him.
Pete glanced over his shoulder and met her misty eyes. “Why don’t you go up to bed, darlin’? Take mine. I’ll crash on the couch. Lee, you can have the guest room upstairs.”
They’d agreed that the FBI agent would stay at his house, too. At least for the night. He sure appreciated the second gun. Maybe she should move in. He might be able to keep his hands—and other body parts—off Nikki if there was constant…supervision. Lee’s presence hadn’t dimmed his desire for the redhead, though.
“It’s been a long night for us all,” Lee said gently, looking at Nikki.
“I don’t want to take your bed, Pete.”
Yeah, he didn’t want her in his bed, either. Not without him wrapped around her, anyway. “Go ahead. Get some sleep. My couch isn’t so bad.” He patted the black leather cushion between them. Oversized and comfortable, it could actually sleep two side by side. He shut out the picture of the two of them curled up on it together the moment his mind coughed it up.