Dangerous Moves

by Karen Rock

  Cherie cut her eyes over to an oblivious Dixon. He had earbuds in and his eyes were trained on a subtitled news show. “I’m surprised Dixon told you about our arrangement.”

  “He knows he can trust me.” The plan was for Dixon to arrange a meeting with Blake and the ring’s higher-ups to discuss expanding their sales base, a meeting he’d attend with a recording device to capture the discussion along with the group members’ identities.

  “Can I?” She dropped the towel and simply slid her fingers along his abdomen.

  “You can do anything you like,” he drawled, knowing he’d be able to stop her before she got too carried away. His mind flashed again to Reese. More than just ethical standards, his unwillingness to get physical with Cherie stemmed from a sense that he’d betray his growing feelings for Reese.

  “Oooohhhh.” Cherie licked her lips. “Let’s go back to my office and—”

  “What?” growled Dixon. Cherie jumped and yanked her hands from Blake. “You two trying to cut a deal behind my back?”

  Cherie angled her head and raised drawn-on eyebrows. “I’m the boss.”

  Doubtful, Blake mused, careful to keep his expression neutral. After some digging, he had discovered that a limited-liability corporation, Briarton LLC, rented the gym’s property to the recently bankrupted owner. He suspected they financed her business as well, a front to launder drug money. His initial investigation of the corporation hadn’t turned up any leads or revealed its members. Coach Lewis could be part of it, but Blake’s gut told him the ring went deeper, encompassing Pete Landon and someone else, maybe even the police.

  He shook away the ridiculous thought. No. A few rogue officers bought the drugs, cops he’d report once he finished this case, but there was no way the police involvement went all the way to the top.

  One of the outliers might have even stolen the SUV off the impound lot as a favor to Dixon, he guessed, a fact he couldn’t verify, with the CCTV unavailable. Still. Men entered his profession to take down bad guys, not become them. It was a waste of time to speculate otherwise when he had more likely suspects in front of him.

  Dixon spread his hands. “Just making sure everything’s on the up and up.”

  “Blake says you trust him.”

  Dixon nodded at Cherie.

  “Why’d you leave Houston if you were doing so well?” demanded Cherie, her flirtatious façade gone, replaced by a steely eyed businesswoman.

  “They busted the group I dealt for.” Blake released a long breath. “Was lucky not to get caught. Now I’ve got a lot of old clients wanting a hook-up.”

  Cherie’s red mouth twisted side to side as she considered him. “I heard about it. Happened back in August, right?”

  Blake nodded, glad for the convenient, partially true cover story. “I could represent you there, but I need personal assurances from your boss that I’d be covered. No trouble with the police.”

  Cherie’s hand-swat cut off Dixon’s snort. “Let me think about it.”

  Blake pulled a bulging envelope from his gym bag and passed it to Cherie. “Consider that incentive.”

  She peered inside at the cash and raised wide eyes. “Who gave you all this?”

  “He didn’t make it by dancing.” Dixon shot Blake a speculative stare.

  “Set up a meeting between me and your bosses,” Blake said smoothly, injecting the reckless confidence of a newbie dealer trying to rise above his place, “and I’ll give you a percentage of my Houston sales.”

  Cherie eyed him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t.” Blake smiled easily, his stance commanding and assured so they knew he wasn’t bluffing. “But you know I can pay you.” He pointed at the envelope and sauntered to the showers, whistling.

  Twenty minutes later, he leaned into a turn on to the long, two-lane road to Reese’s house and let out his motorcycle’s throttle. Where was Reese? His call to the cell he’d given her went straight to voice mail, despite her promise she’d always have it with her, always have it on. The same thing happened when he called her personal cell and her landline. She should be at her father’s home before dark, since the club was closed today, and the officers guarding her place knew to call if she didn’t show when expected.

  Technically, he had no real reason to worry, but dark unease festered inside. He needed to connect with her and know she was safe. If anything happened to her…

  No. She was home, probably showering and didn’t have her phones in reach. That was it. But he didn’t like it, not one bit.

  His bike shook and rattled over bumps as he accelerated well above the speed limit. His turbulent thoughts churned along with his gut—which detected something off. Danger. The sixth sense all detectives gained in their career that told them shit was about to happen. Time itself seemed to have changed; it’d become electrified, with every second standing on end.

  He raced over sawed evergreen branches left behind by a road crew. There was an awful sound, like bones crunching, spines snapping.

  Faster.

  Overhead, the sky was ink-black with red bleeding in from the horizon’s rim. The blooming humidity slicked his entire body with sweat, and mud splashed his boots as he jetted through a puddle he was in too much of a hurry to avoid.

  Faster.

  The scent of freshly mown hay from a passing field was sweet and ripe, making Blake dizzy as he zoomed around a bend. His bones tingled inside his skin.

  Faster.

  Bats swooped above, stirring the darkening air. Trees on either side of the road leaned in, whispering to one another.

  At last, the familiar farmhouse appeared. Not one light shone from its windows. Blake’s heart gave a sickening thump. Instinct and training had him jumping off his bike before it’d completely stopped.

  He let it topple to the ground and sprinted to the house, gun drawn. His concern vibrated like a taut wire, intensifying with each stride. He spotted an officer slumped across the porch steps. The front door gaped open and its implications slammed like a fist into his stomach.

  Compartmentalizing was the only way to stay sane with an active scene like this, Blake knew, and he focused with pinpoint precision.

  Reese.

  His heartbeat banged against his ears, and he slowed his breathing. Focused. He turned over the downed officer and stared into his unblinking eyes. A shot had blasted away most of the upper third of his head. Frank Turner. Three years out of the training academy. A wedding planned next month. Medal of Commendation a month ago for pulling a baby from a car seat before the vehicle plunged underwater.

  Jesus.

  Bile rose in Blake’s throat.

  Where was the other officer? He cocked his head, listening to a chorus of frogs and crickets. A warm breeze picked up ahead of a storm, rattling wind chimes in the trees around the house. Beneath his clothes, his body flushed hot and cold. Otherwise, silence.

  Blake pulled out his cell and called dispatch to report a downed officer and request back-up. Reese’s attempted kidnapping replayed in his mind on an endless loop. Had her attackers returned? Was she hurt?

  Dead?

  Adrenaline surged through him, making his muscles twitch. He ducked into the darkened house, gun drawn, and nearly slid on papers and debris scattered across the floor. It looked as though a tornado had whirled through the downstairs, devastating everything it touched. His blood stopped in his veins.

  The steroids ring.

  They wanted information from Pete, information Reese now possessed.

  Had they gotten both?

  He searched the house, his heart beating frenetically. The rooms twisted, tricking his eye: corners warping out of shape, shadows flexing as they fled his flashlight’s beam. Every drawer, closet, nook and cranny had been rifled through, but no Reese.

  Who else knew police officers guarded the place? Only
his department, and the precinct…more evidence of police involvement in the steroids ring? Why was one officer missing, unless…he was the perp and this was all an inside job.

  He tamped down the hasty suspicion. He knew better than to act on instinct. Instinct lied, evidence never did. Time to go over the crime scene again and see what he’d missed.

  Blake loped back outside and tramped the grounds, his flashlight sweeping the property. Fireflies hovered at the edge of the yard. A pair of birds cried in the trees, and it sounded like they were arguing. His only witnesses. He scanned for signs of a struggle, drag marks, blood, spent shell casings.

  Nothing.

  An ambush, then. One officer turning on the other? All around him, the air flexed the way it had in the house, straight lines buckling at the edges of his vision.

  In the distance, a siren wailed. Soon uniforms, suits, CSI techs, and reporters listening in on scanners would flood the place. Everyone would be here but the person he’d sworn to keep safe. His palms itched to hold Reese; his eyes burned to see her. His heart pumped overtime, desperate to find her.

  He turned in a slow circle, and his ragged breath scraped in his tight throat. A fierce, animal urge to protect her reared its head.

  Roared.

  Where the fuck was Reese?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blake paced Reese’s front lawn, his chest on fire. All around him, circular lights flashed atop a half-dozen cruisers whose radios crackled with static-filled voices. He dodged one of the white-suited CSI team members carting equipment into Reese’s decimated house, while others left carrying bagged and tagged items.

  Yellow tape cordoned off the area and white chalk now outlined the fallen officer’s position. Dark-suited homicide detectives huddled by the garage after taking Blake’s statement. Uniforms combed the grounds for evidence or any sign of Reese or the missing officer, Tim Light. A BOLO had been issued for Reese’s Jeep as well as the absent cruiser whose GPS tracker was either malfunctioning or had been turned off.

  Adrenaline buzzed through Blake like it always did at a crime scene. He shoved clenched hands in his pockets and picked up his pace. Working theory was a home invasion that’d netted Pete Landon’s laptop and phone and resulted in Frank’s death and Reese’s kidnapping. Tim, an officer he’d never met before, who’d subbed in tonight for the regularly assigned officer, was presumed to have given chase. Some theorized he met with his partner’s fate on some back road they had yet to search. One officer down, one missing, along with a beautiful, kidnapped woman made for high drama, and the reporters gathered in force, snapping photos.

  Blake’s jaw clamped to hold back his primal scream at the vultures. This wasn’t some sideshow entertainment or watercooler fodder. This was a person’s life. Lives, he corrected himself, his tormented thoughts carrying him to a dark place.

  He hadn’t even fucking been here.

  His head sunk into his hands, and he stood, hunched, his back braced against the rising night wind, damaged and raw, his nerve endings exposed.

  Damn it. He lifted his face to the black sky. He’d sworn to protect her, and he’d failed. Anguish pulverized his organs, beating him inside out as he pictured Reese hurt or worse. A wave of powerlessness crashed over him. He’d rather face a hail of bullets than imagine her in harm’s way. Her life meant everything to him, and he’d die to protect it.

  Another car engine rumbled in the distance, approaching fast. Then a familiar Jeep swerved to the side of the road and lurched to a stop. A jolt of electricity zapped his heart and rocketed him into motion. He was already running before Reese opened her door and her entire body went rigid the moment she stepped outside. Her jaw. Her hands. Even the muscles in her thighs, exposed by her white sundress’s swirling hem. It transformed her into something otherworldly, an angel—not a ghost.

  Alive.

  Thank God.

  Without a thought, he swept Reese into his embrace. His eyes closed as his chin rested on her soft, fragrant hair. She was safe, whole. His unsteady hands skimmed along her sides, a frantic need to touch her seizing him. He had to assure himself she was real, that his desperate imaginings hadn’t simply conjured her.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Then, too impatient to wait for her answer, he kissed her so hard their teeth collided, kissed her for each and every second he’d spent scared out of his mind. A shiver tore through Reese and she clutched him, her breasts flattening against his chest. His reaction was immediate and intense, his cock jerking stiff at the smallest rub of her body against his own. He fought back a groan and hoped she was too preoccupied to notice.

  From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed camera flashes. Reporters. They’d identify the lovely brunette he shielded, and him, if he let them creep closer. Thunder growled in the distance, followed by a misty gust that bent the treetops. Without another word, he bundled her back toward the Jeep.

  “W-what happened? Why are cops all over my yard?” Reese jerked free and darted toward the house.

  He caught her around the waist before she ducked under the yellow tape. “Police line. You can’t cross, sweetheart.”

  “But it’s my dad’s house!”

  “I’ll explain in the car.” He shoved through the swarming journalists, settled Reese gently in the passenger seat then slid behind the wheel.

  Reese fumbled and dropped the keys before passing them over. “And was that red—was that blood—on my stoop?”

  His mouth worked, but he couldn’t order the words to march off his tongue.

  I thought you were dead.

  Thought I lost you.

  Lightning bleached the world of color in one brilliant pop. If thunder followed, it was drowned out by the rev of the engine as Blake launched them down the road away from the chaos and danger. Rain tapped on the windshield, slow at first, then relentless, a barrage that sounded like gunfire.

  “Yes,” he managed at last. “Someone ransacked the place and shot one of the officers guarding it.”

  “Which officer?”

  “Frank Turner.”

  “And he’s—”

  “Dead.”

  Her chest expanded on a deep inhalation of breath. She held it for a second before releasing it all at once. “Oh. God,” she moaned. “What about the other officer? The new one we hadn’t met yet…Ben?”

  “Tim,” he supplied, driving on autopilot. Wind gathered in the surrounding trees, shuffling the leaves and bending the grasping limbs. A mournful howl carried through the vents. “He’s missing.”

  Then it hit him. If Reese was okay and only Frank Turner killed, was Tim behind the home invasion and murder after all? Even more damning, as a junior officer, had he followed orders from someone higher up in the police department? His nagging suspicion of law enforcement involvement, begun at the gym when he’d spied officers buying steroids and deepened with Cherie’s “cops weren’t a problem” assurance, now ballooned, blotting out everything Blake held to be true. Thinking it felt traitorous.

  Yet every detective knew to keep an open mind during investigations. Otherwise, you risked closing yourself off and missing leads, suspects…but one officer killing another? That crossed a line his mind couldn’t grasp.

  “If my aunt hadn’t invited me to dinner, I would have been here,” Reese said, her voice sounding far away. She was stunned but processing, rather than flipping out, and he much preferred that reaction. It was easier to handle than terrified or weepy.

  Professional dancer Reese was steel in a tutu; one of the strongest woman he’d ever met. He reached across the center console and smoothed a hand over her twitching thigh. “I owe Aunt Marisol.”

  “I wish I’d been here.” Suddenly her voice shook with fury, her emotions careening all over the place. “I would have killed those assholes.”

  “Why didn’t you call?” The blacktop gleamed
in the rain. Headlights whisked by, but he couldn’t make out the vehicle through the deluge.

  “I forgot the phone you gave me and never entered your number on my other cell. Plus, I planned on making it back before you did, except Aunt Marisol kept pushing me to stay, and my cousins had so much news to share; I lost track of time….”

  He started to ask why she didn’t leave a message at his precinct, but stopped when she dropped her head back and said, “I can’t make sense of this.”

  “Once reality hits, you’ll come down hard.” He’d seen it too many times to count. And he’d be there to reassure Reese that she’d never be in danger again—even if he had to book her a ticket to New York and see her on the plane himself.

  Tomorrow.

  Tonight—he needed her. Now. Desperation ravaged his insides and shredded his guts. The relief he should have felt when she emerged from the Jeep eluded him. Once he had her whole and warm in his arms, he wouldn’t let go until he assured himself she was okay.

  He called the lead detective, filled him in about Reese, then bumped off the rutted lane and onto the main road leading to his condo. Reese would be safe there. He’d damn well make sure of it.

  Twenty minutes later, they ducked through sheets of water into his building’s deserted foyer. She shivered beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and nestled her close. The rain transformed her dress into transparent tissue, molding itself to her long, lithe limbs, her shapely ass, and the delectable dip of her navel below full, luscious breasts.

  The supercharged jolt to his libido was immediate and dead-on accurate. His tongue swelled along with his groin, his adrenaline turning to ardor. He wanted to lose himself in her, and release the tension thrumming inside, but he held himself in check. Barely. Tonight’s ordeal had left her fragile. No match for the tormented beast clawing inside him…a beast that would be anything but gentle with her right now.