Dangerous Moves

by Karen Rock

  “Aces Up Casino. We’ll give your name to Bill Wilson,” Cherie supplied. “He runs that part of the operation.”

  Bingo. Blake clamped back a smile. Another name on the record.

  “How long before your lab is up and running down there?” Tim demanded, shooting a sharp glance at Cherie. Red rose in her cheekbones.

  “Depends. I could use some help.” Blake laced his fingers behind his head. Open body language. His posture conveyed “completely unconcerned” despite the electricity jittering through him. Fight or flight was an autonomic response. Hiding those tells required extreme discipline, training and cunning. Over the years, he’d honed all three, giving him the highest solve rate in his department despite being the youngest. One more crackdown, and he’d earn the coveted DPS Criminal Investigations promotion.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  “I’d like to look at your conversion lab,” he continued smoothly. “Where’s it at?”

  “Why?” Tim’s voice sharpened with suspicion.

  Blake curled his lip. “Just thought I’d see how you do things. Keep up the standard.”

  “We’ll see,” Tim grumbled, not completely mollified.

  “And I’ll need bottling and labeling machines,” Blake continued, playing his ambitious-distributor part to the hilt.

  Tim shook his head, giving a small smile of pure disgust. “Jesus. What the fuck does this guy bring to the table?”

  “Connections.” Blake held up a thumb. “Customers.” Thumb and finger. “Profit.” Another finger. “Me.” He pointed back to himself.

  Cherie’s elbow cut off Dixon’s guffaw.

  “What proof do we have he can deliver any of the things he just ticked off, mainly profits?” Tim’s pug nose wrinkled hard enough to make it disappear, save for his oversized nostrils.

  “I was their top seller before the sting,” Blake said matter-of-factly, no bragging, just conviction. “Still got plenty of loyal customers, and my base will grow once I’m set up. Our last distributor was sloppy, and I don’t make mistakes. I’ll guarantee you a million in sales in the next twelve months.”

  There was a small, dry chip of silence while that fell through the air. “So, what’s our cut?” Tim demanded.

  “Fifteen percent.”

  Tim laughed at the top of his lungs, right in Blake’s face. “With us setting you up like that?” He turned to Cherie and Dixon. “This guy thinks he’s a comedian.”

  Cherie giggled obligingly. She elbowed a silent Dixon into chuckling, his expression confused over all the mixed signals.

  “I never joke about money,” Blake said offhandedly, a smirk twisting his lips.

  “Fifty percent.” Tim’s jaw clamped hard. His hands curled into fists.

  Blake stared back, still grinning. “Twenty-five.”

  “Thirty.”

  Blake drew out the moment, stonewalling, then nodded. “Deal. Who’s going to finance me?” he asked, returning to the important business of determining Briarton LLC’s members. “The 30 g’s I gave you only goes so far. Can you hook me up with the same money source funding Cherie? Bulk Gym?”

  “Hey!” huffed Cherie.

  Tim shot her a slit-eyed, sideways glance, held up his empty glass and shook it at Dixon. “We’ll get back to you on that.”

  Dixon slid from the booth then whirled when the front door burst open. Blake’s pulse slammed as Shane O’Neill, the officer he’d glimpsed at Bulk Gym buying steroids, the rookie street cop who’d nearly botched Blake’s meth sting last year, strode to their corner table.

  “Lewis called. Said Bill spotted DEA agents over at the casino tonight,” he huffed, as though he’d just run from Oklahoma. “They were undercover, but he recognized one.”

  Blake twisted in his seat and surreptitiously drew his Glock. Shit. He was about to get made.

  A round of swearing howled from the group.

  Shane’s eyes landed on Blake then widened. He blinked hard, like that might clear his vision. “Motherfucker!” He pointed dead at Blake and drew his gun. “I know this guy. He’s a narc.”

  A beat of stunned silence, then— “The fuck he is,” Dixon exclaimed, like it’d punched its way out of him.

  Cherie scrambled under the booth. In one move, Blake grabbed Dixon, stuck his handgun to his head and stared down the barrels of two Dallas police-issued Glocks.

  “Drop your weapons,” Blake commanded.

  Shane joined Tim’s mocking laugh, and Cherie slithered back up into her seat. “Go on, shoot him. Like we care.”

  “Cherie,” Dixon pleaded.

  The redhead shrugged, then tried and failed to light a cigarette with trembling fingers.

  Shane circled, his gun steady on Blake while Tim jerked his head. “Dixon, get over here,” he ordered, calling Blake’s bluff. “And drop your weapon, narc.”

  Air hissed from between Blake’s clenched teeth; his handgun clattered to the floor. Damn it. Tim knew official policy wouldn’t allow Blake to take a hostage, let alone kill one. At his shove, Dixon stumbled forward to Cherie’s side.

  “Now kick it over here,” Tim ordered, gesturing with his gun. “Shane, pat him down.”

  Blake’s eyes darted every which way, assessing his limited options. Shane’s searching hands missed the recording device hidden in Blake’s pocketed pen cap. One positive in this mess: he’d have plenty of evidence if he escaped. A big if. He was outgunned, with civilians at close range. At a minimum, he needed to get outside to take down these assholes.

  “Come on, we’re taking you on a ride,” sneered Tim, taking care of that issue.

  “A little sightseeing tour,” chuckled Shane, butting Blake in the back with his pistol. “Hunt Hill bridge has got one hell of a view. Real pretty. And real high.”

  As they passed the table, Tim pointed at Dixon and Cherie. “You too.”

  “What’d I do?” Dixon’s face resembled a wax statue, white and immobile.

  “He brought the narc to me.” Cherie gave up and tossed down her lighter and cigarette. “I swear I didn’t know,” she choked out.

  “You could both be snitches like Pete,” Tim’s gun swerved between the sweating duo. “We’re not taking any chances.”

  Pete as in Pete Landon? Which one of these guys was the shooter?

  Adrenaline drove hard in Blake’s bloodstream as they marched toward a souped-up Camaro. The burned-out parking lot light had been replaced, illuminating the deserted space. Crouched shadows watched them from distant corners. An unseen cat wailed nearby. No Escalade, which meant only two armed, trained officers to deal with. He had to subdue them and keep Cherie and Dixon from running.

  As they passed by a dumpster, he whirled and slammed Shane’s head into its side. The officer crumpled and Blake ducked to grab his weapon.

  A boot heel slammed down on his wrist, pinning it. “Not so fast,” hissed Tim. “You’re going nowhere.”

  “Neither are you,” a familiar woman’s voice vowed.

  Reese.

  She stepped from behind the dumpster, her pistol trained on Tim. With her dark hair in a tight ponytail, black, second-skin yoga pants and a matching top skimming her impeccable body, she looked dead serious and dead gorgeous. “Drop your gun and get on the ground.”

  If the situation wasn’t so dire, Blake would have grinned. Felt relief, even. Instead, anger and fear fired through him. What the hell was she doing here? He’d left her sleeping heavily when he’d slipped from their bed after midnight. Behind him, a waking Shane groaned.

  Less thinking, more action.

  With Tim distracted, Blake snatched up Shane’s gun. He pointed it as he scrambled to his feet. “Drop your weapon. Now!”

  Tim’s Glock clattered to the asphalt. “Ah, come on, man.” Shane’s eyes darted over Blake’s shoulder. The drowning-man hope struggling on
his face was terrible. “You wouldn’t shoot a fellow officer.”

  Despite everything, Blake hesitated. He ran straight into lethal danger to protect his brothers in blue. Harming one? It went against everything he knew and who he was.

  “But I would.” Reese advanced and fired, her shot whistling by Blake’s head. Someone screamed behind him, and Blake whirled.

  Shane writhed on the ground, Blake’s gun in his hand. Blood soaked his lower left side.

  Blake gaped at the officer who’d nearly ambushed him, then back at a steely eyed Reese. She’d just saved his life.

  “You bitch,” snarled Tim. He smacked her gun away then clobbered her so hard she crashed to her knees.

  The world flashed red. The fucker. Blake popped Tim in the calf and the asshole dropped to the asphalt, clutching his bleeding leg and moaning.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cherie bolting, Dixon fast on her heels.

  “Halt or I’ll shoot,” he hollered, raising his gun, and they skidded to a stop. “On the ground. Arms and legs spread.”

  Cherie and Dixon flopped to the pavement.

  When he turned, Reese had her gun trained on the two downed officers. “You so much as blink, and I’ll blast you,” she growled when Tim raised his head. He dropped it back to the asphalt and closed his eyes. Shane lay still, only his lips moving as he mumbled something indistinguishable.

  “What are you doing here?” Blake demanded as he pulled out his phone, dialed dispatch and waited for them to pick up.

  “What am I doing here?” Reese’s voice shook. “What are you doing here? What happened to being partners? Sharing everything? Huh?”

  He held up a finger when the dispatcher came on the line, requested back-up and medical, and pocketed his phone. “This was too dangerous.” Relief swept through him when he checked his recording device. Still on.

  A shaky laugh escaped her. “No shit, Sherlock. And you’re damn lucky I got here.”

  He blew out a huge breath. “How’d you find me?”

  “I overheard you and Dixon talking earlier about a meeting here, but since you didn’t mention it, I assumed it wasn’t tonight. When I woke up alone, I just jumped in my Jeep and drove. I kept feeling…I kept feeling…” She pressed trembling lips together for a moment then continued, her voice wobbly, “I kept feeling that you might be in danger. That I might not make it in time.”

  He shook his head, marveling. “How’d you know I was in danger?”

  She scanned the sky and shrugged. “A hunch. I can’t explain it, but I just felt it. Felt you.”

  Their eyes locked, and he wished like hell he could hold her. In the distance, sirens wailed, growing louder as they approached.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the meeting.” His words were inadequate, but his spinning mind kept him from saying more.

  She nodded and turned away, her eyes glistening.

  Twenty minutes later, Cherie and Dixon cuffed and in the back of a departing squad car, Shane and Tim on their way to the hospital, Blake watched Reese as she calmly gave her statement to a nodding uniform who jotted down her words on a small pad.

  What a woman.

  He’d survived the night and was close to catching the group’s masterminds—something impulsive Reese made possible by putting herself in danger. Funny how the things that drove him crazy also made him want her, in his bed and in his life. He admired her tenacity, courage, and selflessness in putting his safety ahead of her own. She went with her gut instead of her head, but this time, it saved his ass.

  As much as that side of her frustrated him, he loved it too. Loved her, he realized.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  Would she still want him when he eventually cuffed her father? He ached when he realized all he stood to lose.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At the opening strains of Depeche Mode’s “Somebody,” Reese curved down, grabbed her ankle and lifted it straight overhead, foot arched, toes pointed. Before her, downtown Dallas, visible through Blake’s large living room window, glowed to life in the gathering dusk. She’d shoved the furniture aside, creating a large, open space for her to dance.

  She released her ankle and followed it to the ground in a controlled drop where she stretched over it, then retracted, whipping her head, moving with the haunting melody. She rolled onto her back and unfurled her arms, reaching all the way through her fingertips, searching for somebody to love.

  Blake.

  She lifted her legs, crisscrossing them at the ankles as she arched her back. Hours ago, she’d woken, alone in bed, unable to shake the feeling something was terribly, terribly wrong. She rolled to her side and pushed to her knees, sliding her arm forward then retracting it to her stomach. Dance allowed her to find herself—and lose herself—at the same time.

  She circled a fist overhead then pounded the floor, releasing the frustration that Blake had left her out again, abandoned her when he’d promised to trust and include her.

  In rhythm with the pulsing tune, she pushed off the wood floor and leapt into a bent plié. Then she allowed her weight to topple her forward, her movements jerky as she somersaulted then powered upright en pointe, arms grasping for the ceiling, making herself as big as possible, the way she’d done when she’d stepped from behind the dumpster. She’d felt larger than life, ready to take down anyone, the world even, if it threatened Blake.

  …because she loved him.

  Loved him.

  She dropped to her knees and curled her body, forearms sinking into the ground, as that soul-shaking realization walloped her once more.

  She loved a man who threatened her father. A Dallas police officer, whose chosen city and profession were anathema to her.

  It couldn’t work.

  Only her stubborn heart refused to listen to reason, no matter how much she’d argued with it today while Blake holed up at the station, interviewing suspects, updating superiors and writing reports, according to his earlier call.

  Reese pressed her forehead against the floor, then unfurled one arm overhead, grabbing for the unknown, as the song’s lead singer cried that he wanted somebody who cared for him passionately, with every thought, with every breath. She wanted that too. Someone who understood her. Listened to her. Stood by her side.

  Blake.

  She rolled into a plank position, her body unbowed.

  She’d been ready to kill for Blake.

  It’d be impossible to forget him when she returned to New York City. But Blake had his promotion here, and she had her fresh start and dance studio there. They’d worked hard to achieve those goals…only now, for her at least, those dreams were incomplete without Blake.

  Reese danced on, flowing into a backbend, her ponytail sweeping the floor, as she imagined the blow of their parting. Was there a way to make things work between them?

  Could Blake be somebody to share her life with, her innermost thoughts, her intimate details?

  Only she hadn’t revealed her painful past to Blake.

  She let her elbows fall to the floor then flipped backward, head over heels for the only man, besides her uncle, she felt safe enough to confide in about her father, her childhood, her attack. Deep down, she sensed he’d listen and understand…if she was brave enough to make herself completely vulnerable to him.

  She brushed her hands down the length of her arms as she stomped forward on her heels, sweeping away her doubts, her insecurities.

  Time for fearlessness.

  A leap into the unknown.

  Her thigh muscles flexed as they propelled her into a grand jeté. When she landed, she grabbed her ankle and pulled it to the back of her head, centering herself, finding the inner strength she needed after a night that had shaken her to her core, and a future filled with even more uncertainty.

  As the m
usic ended with a soft train whistle, she released her leg and kicked it backward, holding it as she gracefully placed her arms forward into an arabesque.

  She turned, and Blake stood at the door, transfixed, an unfamiliar expression on his face—a mix of tenderness, vulnerability and desire that tumbled her heart in her chest.

  He stepped closer, the way she wanted him to, and he stroked a fingertip up the side of her neck. “That was beautiful.” His voice broke slightly.

  She bowed her head, overcome with emotion, but he tipped up her chin and gazed down at her. His blue eyes were as dark as the purpling sky outside. Her heart pounded at his intense perusal.

  “You’re beautiful.” Blake cupped her face in his palm, the tender touch making her heavy-lidded, her head tipping toward his hand like a flower to sunlight. His other hand landed on her shoulder, fingers nudging aside one strap of her tank dress so the fabric hung limply off her arm.

  Her breath caught as she peered up at his tall, muscular shape. Her deadly lover. Her gentle warrior. The sight of him looming over her reminded her she was physically safe, but dear God, she’d never been more emotionally helpless. She was his to have and hold. Not forever, not figuratively. But for now, and she wanted him to touch her.

  “Take me.” Reese whispered the words with a heartfelt plea. She couldn’t take control here; her senses were too overloaded, her thoughts too scrambled with visions, feelings—and deep, hungry need.

  “Take you? I’m going to consume you. Body and soul, flesh and spirit.”

  She heard the words but didn’t process them until Blake swept an arm down beneath her knees and tugged her off her feet. A squeal of surprise erupted from her throat, and she wound her arms around the corded muscle of his neck. She’d reached a point of no return, and she’d follow this emotionally charged moment wherever it led. Ducking her head into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, Reese slid her tongue along his collarbone while he carried her into his bedroom, then gently set her on her feet before his bed.

  She smoothed her palms over the sexy ripple of his shoulders though his T-shirt. Restless for more of him, she tugged at the cotton fabric. Blake seemed to read her thoughts, yanking off his shirt before pitching it to the floor. And my God, he was magnificent. That proud, defined chest, his ridged abdomen. He wasn’t perfect. In fact, he was, she suspected, a bit broken like her, and it only made her want him more.