by Lisa Childs
*
Garek stumbled back, but her fury staggered him more than her physically shoving at him. “I thought you would be happy.”
“Happy you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth?”
“I trust you,” he said. Candace was probably the most trustworthy person he’d ever met. It was one of the things he had always found most attractive about her. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put you in danger—which I obviously did.”
She shoved him again.
But he refused to budge this time; instead he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against him. “You’ve been in danger ever since you came back to River City—because of me.”
“I’m in danger every time I take an assignment with Payne Protection,” she said. “I’ve been in danger with every job I’ve ever had. I’ve survived war. And being a cop and a bodyguard. You weren’t worried about putting me in danger. You preferred my thinking the worst of you. You didn’t want me getting too close to you.”
He was close to her now, so close his body reacted, tensing as desire rushed through him. The heat of that desire chased the chill away. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted—the way he needed—Candace Baker. And it had scared the crap out of him.
“That’s what this has been about,” Candace said, “you running from me—from what we might have if either of us was brave enough to give it a chance.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “It doesn’t feel like either of us is running now.”
Her breath caught, and she stared at him, her blue eyes dilating with desire. She wanted him, too—as desperately as he wanted her.
But he forced himself to release her and step back.
She cursed. “I thought you weren’t running anymore.”
“I’m not,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to tell you everything.”
“There’s more?” she asked, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if cold. Or scared…
He sighed. “I guess I liked people thinking the worst of me…”
“So you could keep them from getting too close to you,” she surmised.
He shrugged, but his shoulders were tense. And he realized why. “Anybody who got close to me let me down—my dad, my uncle, my mom…”
“Your mom,” she repeated. She must have heard the bitterness in his voice. “She testified against you in the death of her husband.”
He nodded. “Yeah, she was trying to put all her children away.” He wanted to throw something or break something. But he contained his anger. Now. He hadn’t that night. “Her creep of a husband attacks and nearly rapes her daughter, and she blames her. She blames Stacy.”
“And you and Milek,” she said. “You went to prison for manslaughter.”
He curved his lips into a slight smile. “You’ve liked calling me a killer.”
“It’s not true.” She didn’t ask a question; it was as if she already knew.
And she did know him—better than anyone else ever had. He wanted her to know the rest of it. But she finished the story for him, as if she’d been there. “You took the blame for your brother and sister.”
“Stacy was unconscious,” he said. “She didn’t do anything. Neither did I…” Frustration and regret ate at him now. “Son of a bitch got the jump on me—knocked me out cold. When I woke up, he was already dead.”
“Milek did it?”
He nodded. “It’s not like he lied about it. He told everyone he’d done it.”
“But no one believed him,” she said.
“The judge sure didn’t,” he said. “But then he wanted me to turn on Chekov. I could have gotten out of jail time if I’d worn a wire and tricked Chekov into implicating himself in one of his many crimes.”
She gasped. “You were a kid. He wanted you to put your life at risk?”
“I would have,” Garek admitted. “If it had been just me, but Chekov would have gone after Milek and Stacy, too. And they had been even younger than me. I couldn’t leave them unprotected.”
“So you went to jail for something you hadn’t done. You took the blame for Milek.”
“He went to juvenile detention,” he said. “And he had done nothing wrong. He saved Stacy and me from that bastard.” He should have been the one who’d done it; he should have protected his siblings.
“Poor Milek,” she said with a sigh.
She seemed to understand what his brother had gone through—the guilt he had felt all these years. Did she understand why Garek had done what he had?
He couldn’t read her feelings for him. For the first time in his life, he’d told someone the truth—the whole truth—about himself. Was it too much? Was he too much?
Or not enough?
*
Milek stared at the worn-out newspaper clipping. He didn’t need to look at the words; he knew what it said by heart. Or heartbreak…
He stared instead at the picture of Amber and their son. The picture accompanied their obituaries. That was the article he’d clipped; the words he knew by rote.
They had been dead for nearly a year now. Everyone thought that was how he’d finally learned of his son’s existence. They all thought he hadn’t known—Amber had kept that secret from him. Instead she’d kept a secret for him—even from her best friend.
A man like him couldn’t be a father. He had lost control and killed a man. While that had been fifteen years ago, he hadn’t changed. That capacity was still in him; the anger and rage could erupt at any time.
He hadn’t deserved Amber or their son. But now he could never earn the right to love them. He had lost them forever.
The door rattled, so he shoved the picture back in his pocket just before Nicholas Rus stepped back into his office at River City Police Department.
“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Rus asked him as he dropped into the chair behind his desk.
Milek shook his head. “No. But neither did you.”
“Garek lost the tail I had on him.”
Milek laughed. “Of course he did.” He was the only one who’d followed his brother without his knowing. “He’ll keep Candace safe.”
“They’ll keep each other safe,” Rus said.
Milek wasn’t as convinced as the FBI agent. “Pull Garek out and put me in instead.”
Rus shook his head. “That would be too dangerous.”
Milek shrugged. He didn’t care how dangerous it was. He had nothing to lose.
Garek had everything to lose—and he nearly had. Again and again.
If Candace hadn’t survived tonight, Milek wasn’t sure his brother would have either. For certain he would have gone after Chekov and it wouldn’t have been to put him behind bars. It would have been to put him in the grave.
*
“Are you mad at me again?” Garek asked, his deep voice tentative.
Candace shook her head as tears choked her throat. She blinked furiously. But a tear fell, sliding down her cheek. She turned away, more embarrassed by her weakness than any humiliation she had ever endured.
But Garek’s arms closed around her and he turned her toward him. His thumb brushed away the tear and dried the trail. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What did I do now?”
She shook her head. “It’s not what you did. It’s what I did.”
His brow furrowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I misjudged you,” she said. “And I wouldn’t let it go. I kept bringing up your past. And I had it all wrong.” She had called him a thief and a killer.
“I didn’t correct you,” Garek said. “I didn’t let anyone else correct you either. I wanted you to think the worst.”
Pain clutched her heart. “You wanted to keep me away.”
His arms slid around her. “I don’t want to keep you away any longer.”
She understood why he had though—how he had worried she would disappoint him as everyone else in his life had. His father had used him. His mother had
betrayed him. Nobody but his siblings had loved him.
Until now…
She opened her mouth to declare her feelings, but his lips covered hers. He kissed her deeply, desperately.
And her desire ignited. She clutched at his shoulders and the nape of his neck, holding his head down. And she kissed him back. Her lips nibbled at his, and she slid her tongue into his mouth.
He groaned. But then he took over—tilting his head to deepen the kiss even more. He thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth.
She gasped as passion flooded her. Just his kiss had brought her pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. The tension began to wind up inside her body again.
His hands were there—stroking her body. He must have unbuttoned buttons and unsnapped snaps because her clothes fell away. His followed, dropping next to those bags of decorations onto the floor.
Then he pulled her down with him—onto the plush rug in the center of the hardwood floor.
“There’s a bed upstairs,” he murmured.
“Later,” she murmured back—between kisses. She couldn’t wait for a bed. She had to have him now.
He pulled her down on top of him, arched his hips and thrust inside her. She clutched at his shoulders, then his chest as she moved on him. The tension wound more tightly inside her, threatening to snap her in two.
His hands stroked over her—from her hips, up her sides to her breasts. He teased her nipples with his thumbs, winding that pressure more tightly inside her. She whimpered and moaned at the delicious tension.
But he kept thrusting, driving her up and out of her mind. Then the tension broke as pleasure overwhelmed her. She screamed his name.
Then he cried out hers as he filled her.
She collapsed onto his chest, panting for breath. Once she could speak, she would tell him—she would profess her love. But if she told him that she loved him…
Would he let her help him with Chekov? Or would he be determined to protect her again?
He lay back, his heart racing beneath her breasts. And he struggled for breath, too. But he stroked circles on her back. Finally when he could speak again, he said, “We have a job to do.”
“You’ll let me help you with Chekov?” She hadn’t even had to ask.
His hand trembled slightly against her back. “I was talking about the tree. We have a tree to decorate.”
She had wanted to decorate a tree like Mrs. Payne’s. She’d wanted a house that was a home—like Mrs. Payne’s. But this place wouldn’t be home if they didn’t live long enough to live there together.
Not that he wanted to live with her. He had been honest with her. He’d let her get close to him. But he hadn’t professed his feelings either.
He rolled her off him. Then he pulled on his pants and handed her his shirt. “If you don’t put something on…”
They would make love again. Her body hummed with pleasure, but it—and she—was greedy for more. He picked up one of the bags and handed it to her.
“We’ll never get this tree decorated.”
Shirtless, he strung the lights; she’d never seen any sexier man than he was. She paid less attention to where she was hanging the bulbs than to the way his muscles bulged in his arms and his back. When she rose on tiptoe to reach the higher branches, he ran his fingertips along her bare thigh. She wanted to do more than decorate the tree.
But before she made love with him again—and she wanted—she needed—to make love to him, she wanted to talk about something else.
“Let me help you with Chekov,” she said.
His fingers skimmed down and then off her thigh. She tensed, waiting for his objection.
All he said was, “It’s not your fight. It has nothing to do with you.”
It had everything to do with her because she loved him and that made his fight hers. But more than that…
“Chekov made it my fight when he kept trying to kill me,” she said.
He sighed. “That’s why you shouldn’t be involved.”
“It’s too late. I am involved.”
He stared at her, his silvery eyes dark gray with turbulent emotions. He shook his head. But she didn’t think he was rejecting her offer.
She thought he was giving in…
But then metal creaked as the back door opened on squeaky hinges. He pressed a finger to his lips and handed over his gun to her while he shoved a magazine in hers. Now frustration and regret flashed in his eyes.
But there was no way anyone could have followed him—not the way he’d driven here. So whoever had found them must have known where they were some other way. Maybe they’d searched property records and discovered he’d recently bought this house.
How many men were coming through that door? Two had shot at her while one had stayed in the truck on the road. So there might be three of them. They could be outnumbered.
Garek held her gaze for a moment, as if he was trying to tell her something. Then he gave the signal—a quick nod of his head.
Even if they were outnumbered, they wouldn’t go out without a fight. She just wished she had told him she loved him…because now she might never have the chance.
Chapter 17
Nicholas Rus flinched at the sound of guns cocking, the barrels too near his face for him to react. He didn’t dare to move even enough to draw his own weapon. But he hadn’t thought he would need to draw his weapon here.
“You two sure are trigger-happy,” he said. Not that they’d fired. Yet. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t, even after having identified him as their intruder.
“We have reason to be a little edgy,” Garek sarcastically pointed out as he pulled his gun away from Nick’s head.
Nick released the breath that had caught in his lungs when he’d heard the gun cock. “Yeah, you have reason. Are you both all right?” he asked. “You didn’t stick around at the crash site to give your report.”
“Candace had been out in the cold for hours. We needed to get her to the hospital to make sure she didn’t have frostbite or hypothermia,” Garek said.
“You didn’t stay in the hospital,” Nick said. Because he had gone by there to see them—to make sure they were all right.
“It would have been too dangerous for other patients and staff,” Candace said, “if Chekov’s men tracked me down there.”
It would have been, had he not had agents posted in the hospital, too. “You don’t know Chekov had anything to do with you getting run off the road.”
“And shot at,” she said. Candace hadn’t uncocked the gun she held; it wasn’t pointed at his face anymore. But it was close—close enough for her to shoot him quickly if she wanted.
“You don’t know that was Chekov’s men,” he repeated. “We haven’t linked the other man to Chekov yet.”
“Yet,” she said. “But you will. And you’ll link these men, too.”
“That’s why you should have stuck around the hospital,” he said. “To give me an incident report and their descriptions. You’re the only one who saw the men.”
She uttered a ragged sigh of frustration. “I’ll need to think about it—to try to remember more details. It all happened so quickly.”
“She’s exhausted,” Garek said. “That’s why I brought her home. So she’d be safe and warm.”
Nick took in their state of undress, but he just raised a brow and refrained from comment. He wasn’t sure how far he could trust Garek Kozminski—especially if he made any disrespectful comments in front of the woman the man obviously loved.
But Candace was the one still holding the gun.
“You are safe here,” Nick assured her. “Nobody knows where you are. You don’t need the gun.”
She glared at him, but despite her obvious anger with him, she finally uncocked the gun.
“Why are you mad at me?” he wondered.
“How dare you…” she murmured. “How dare you drag him back into that life!”
Nick groaned. “You told her! God, man, don’t you know anything about going un
dercover? You’re not supposed to tell anyone but your handler anything.”
“Some handler you are,” Candace said. “You’re going to get him killed.”
“No,” Nick said. “You are.”
Candace flinched.
And he instantly regretted his remark. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. But he knew that a woman could distract a man—take his mind off his job and put him in danger. He knew because a woman kept distracting him.
What had happened between them had been a mistake, though. And it wouldn’t happen again. She wasn’t even in River City, so she wouldn’t tempt him again.
It was clear Candace mattered to Garek, though.
“You’re out of line,” Garek told him, his silver eyes metal sharp with anger.
But Rus ignored him to explain, “He’s so worried about your safety he’s not watching out for himself. He’s distracted, and he’s going to wind up dead.”
*
Garek closed the door behind Agent Rus and headed upstairs to Candace. Maybe she’d just been cold—like she’d claimed when she’d gone up to find the bedroom. But he’d been surprised she hadn’t stayed for his meeting with the FBI agent—she hadn’t insisted on planning her part of the undercover operation.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
He had expected—and maybe hoped—to find her in the antique four-poster bed he’d bought with the house and hadn’t yet slept in himself.
But she had grabbed her clothes from the living room floor before going upstairs, and now she was fully dressed. She didn’t answer him; she didn’t even look at him. Instead she stared out the window, probably watching Rus drive away.
“Maybe you should have stayed in the hospital like the doctor wanted.”
“I’m fine,” she said but then shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“Then let me take you back to the hospital.” He shouldn’t have agreed to her leaving against doctor’s orders. She had been in a vehicle crash and then out in the snow and cold much too long.
“Physically I’m fine,” she assured him.
“Then Rus did upset you.” He sighed with frustration that he hadn’t hit the special agent.
“He’s right,” she said, her voice soft with regret and worry. “I am going to get you killed.”