Her eyes flashed with surprise, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively.
“Not with women, Vivi. Just with catching the bad guys.” He hardened his tone. This was a good time to make sure she didn’t think he was going to make a serious pass at her, even though he’d kissed her, and it was obvious he found her attractive. He wanted her to relax and trust him on every level, but it was hard with this unsettling energy swirling between them. “I don’t get personally involved with women on cases. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea because I made a mistake and kissed you.”
So many thoughts flitted over her features, he couldn’t read her. Probably a good thing.
“So, to answer your question, some people find it easy to kill. Others enjoy it. If they didn’t, I’d be chasing bank robbers through city streets. Even though I’ve had to take a life on more than one occasion, I don’t enjoy it.” He let some of his experience into his eyes. “I can’t tell you if you’ll be able to kill someone if it comes down to it, not even in self-defense. There are plenty of cases where men faced with imminent death during combat have refused to fire a shot.” He held her lightly by the elbows. “It doesn’t make them weak or cowards, it just makes them human. I do think you will do whatever it takes to protect Michael, even if that means shooting someone until they are dead.”
She flinched but squared her shoulders. That fierce maternal passion that he’d seen in her right from the start blazed through.
“I would do anything to protect my child.” She grabbed a handful of his vest and pulled him closer, surprising the hell out of him. “But what I hadn’t realized before now is I’d do it to protect you too. And you need to know that.” Her eyes narrowed. “You need to be able to trust me to have your back the same way I need to trust you.”
Christ. He’d told her he didn’t get involved with women on a case, and she told him she’d kill for him.
One of them was lying, and he didn’t think it was Vivi.
Guilt ate at him, along with the relentless pull of temptation.
Something rustled in the bushes, and she whirled around and backed into him.
“It’s just a squirrel,” he reassured her. When she turned around with a self-deprecating laugh, she was right next to him, and despite everything he’d said, he wanted to kiss her. Her lips parted, and she stared up at him with an expression that surely mirrored his. She wanted him, but knew they shouldn’t.
Then he was kissing her, and she leaned into him, grabbing the collar of his vest to pull him closer. She licked inside his mouth, and a furnace exploded inside him. He backed her up a few paces to the shelter they’d built years ago. Hunger filled him, and even though he didn’t release her mouth, his hand was pulling her shirt from her jeans, his hand cupping her breast, finding her nipple a taut, firm pebble against his palm.
How did she do this to him? Reduce him to nothing but want.
Her hands touched his bare skin as they burrowed beneath the layers he wore, they were cold but felt amazing against his too hot flesh. His fingers slipped inside the stretchy waistband of her jeans, and she opened her legs, allowing him access to her slick, hidden folds.
His limbs shook. This was a bad idea, but his fingers eased inside her anyway. She gasped, but didn’t let go of his mouth. Instead she put her hands on his zipper and stroked him through his jeans until he thought he’d burst.
He drove his fingers into her, keeping a rhythm that made her writhe against him and lose her ability to do anything except react—and God help him he liked that. He liked giving her pleasure. His thumb found her clit and then he pressed his palm hard against the throbbing nub of flesh. He drove deeper, wishing it wasn’t so damn cold, and he could strip her naked right here in the woods.
She stiffened against him and shuddered, inner muscles clenching and spasming against his hand. He drew back to see her expression, but her eyes were closed, lips rosy from his kisses. She clutched his jacket, holding on as if she’d fall over if she let go.
Goddamn it. What the hell was wrong with him?
He withdrew his hand and tucked in her shirt. She opened her eyes, which looked so dazed with passion he almost wept. “Jesus, you make me stupid.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry…” Vivi quickly scanned his face. The uncertainty on hers reminded him her ex had done a real number on her, and he probably wasn’t helping.
“It isn’t your fault; stupid comes naturally.” He clamped down hard on the need to apologize. His body ached and his blood ran hot, wanting to finish what it had started. Because he was a guy, and an asshole to boot. But what he really wanted was to be a good FBI agent.
And he was failing.
He needed to unlock the secrets in Michael’s mind before the bad guys found them, because they couldn’t stay here forever. And the longer they were here, the greater the chance of him fucking up and making this even more personal—as if her coming around his fingers wasn’t personal enough? Shit. His body begged him to forget the rules, but he didn’t think he could live with himself if he compromised this situation.
Isn’t it already compromised?
It was messed up, that was for damn sure. He turned away, unwilling to let her see his conflicted emotions, unwilling to let her see the fact he wanted to yank down her panties and do her against the nearest tree. Yeah, great work Special Agent Brennan, go polish your badge and prepare a report on that.
“We better get back,” he said instead.
***
After their target practice that morning, they’d shared hot chocolate with his parents, Jed trying to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line and wasn’t furious with himself for losing control.
The three of them had snowshoed back to the cabin via the woods, and his dad had dropped the SUV off later. The walk in the quiet of the forest with Vivi and Michael had finally cooled his brain, forced him to relax. Almost like a real vacation. It was obvious his parents liked Vivi and Michael, which added a whole surreal aspect to this fake relationship. It was going much better than any of his real ones ever had.
Now they were back at the cabin. The fire roaring. Radio playing softly in the background.
Vivi had made soup for lunch, and he’d had to force any regrets from his head. He needed to focus all his faculties on keeping them safe and getting Michael to start drawing again.
She sat with her feet on the couch, pretending to read a novel. All very relaxed, except the air between them crackled with ever increasing sexual awareness, and killers were out there somewhere, trying to hunt them down.
He rubbed the back of his neck. None of this was easing his tension.
They needed a break in the case. He was betting that once Michael finally felt safe and secure, he’d turn to his go-to method of mentally dealing with things. Vivi said that was drawing.
He didn’t know the status of the investigation and that irked him. Killion and Frazer would probably both call later, though he couldn’t afford to act too interested, even though he was interested as hell.
Jed grabbed a mirror from the bedroom and set it up on the dining table. He took one of the sketch pads he’d bought for Michael, picked up a pencil, and started sketching his reflection in the mirror. He’d taken art throughout high school because band conflicted with his football schedule. Ironically he’d turned out to be pretty good at it. He scratched his chin. He needed a shave, but never usually bothered when he came home. Still, he looked like a Neanderthal. His gaze glanced off Vivi.
He angled the mirror and started putting in pencil lines where the eyes, nose, lips would be, his too wide forehead. Where had those lines between his brows come from? He stared hard at the man he saw in the mirror. There were shadows under his eyes, evidence of too many sleepless nights and guilt-ridden insomnia, lending an age to his face he hadn’t noticed before.
Time moved on.
He looked every one of his thirty-four years. Hardly old, but not young anymore either.
Michael sat at the table
drinking milk and eating a cookie. Every so often he’d reach out a finger and touch the screen of the tablet Jed had given him. He seemed to be figuring out what it could do, although he didn’t attempt to pick it up or even move it closer to him. The kid was definitely scared of what would happen if he broke it, even though Jed had told him twenty times it didn’t matter. Accidents happened.
“H,” said a small text-to-talk electronic voice.
Vivi’s head jerked up.
“Hey, buddy, that’s awesome.” Jed grinned at the boy, who grinned back.
The next letter was a ‘C’ which deflated Jed slightly. He was hoping for a whole word, maybe a detailed account of what had gone down in the toy store. He shook his head at himself and went back to his self-portrait. Patience was the key.
Jed had no doubt Michael was a smart kid. He understood why the doctors refused to label Michael autistic, because he was so high-functioning. But there was also no doubt the kid didn’t make a sound, not even when terrified, and that wasn’t normal.
It was heartbreaking, but it was also frustrating when they were trying to capture terrorists who were in all likelihood planning another attack. Jed also knew that the moment he let his frustration show he’d lose the rapport he’d built with Michael. He couldn’t afford to do that, so he needed to step back. To ignore. And to hope.
He sketched in his nose, lips, the shape of his eyes.
The news came on the radio, and the newscaster started talking about the FBI investigation into the mall attack. Jed put down the pad and stood up. It seemed unbelievable that it had only been two days since the shooting. Two days since the awful events that had changed their lives forever. He went over to the radio to turn it down, because he didn’t want Michael to be reminded of that bad stuff, but he did want to hear what the media had to say. There was no satellite or cable at the cabin. Just a TV hooked up to a DVD player, and the internet.
Vivi came up beside him, arms crossed over her chest, biting her bottom lip, as she listened in too.
“…an unofficial source today leaked the fact that the weapons used during the mall attack were issued by the Syrian government to its armed forces…”
A cold sweat broke out on his brow.
“What does that mean?” Vivi whispered at him urgently. “The Syrian government attacked the Minneapolis Mall?”
“Not necessarily.” But that would be the general consensus. “A lot of government troops defected to the opposition at the start of the conflict, and they would have taken what weapons they could with them.” But Abdullah was Syrian Republican Guard. If the media discovered that, there would be a frenzy demanding action.
She pressed closer to his side, both of them huddling over the kitchen counter where the radio sat. He tried not to be aware of the shape of her beside him, the points of contact. He wasn’t a teenager with hormones to match. Theoretically he had some control.
Yup. Not.
“…Funerals for the dead are due to begin tomorrow, and a memorial service will be held for all the victims…People still in hospital…Missing woman and child…Hunt continues for a mystery female terrorist…”
Jed placed a finger on her lips before she repeated that information out loud. Her irises dilated, and a jolt of heat shot through him. He’d never told her one of the tangos was female. He didn’t want Michael influenced. He dropped his hand when it was clear she’d gotten the message and ignored the fact his finger felt like it had been branded.
“…Rumors suggest President Hague might attend the memorial service…White House officials say no details have been finalized…”
“I used to work in the White House many years ago,” Vivi said contemplatively. “That’s where I met Michael’s father.”
A tingle of unease crawled down his spine. “Your ex works in the White House?”
She pulled a face. “No. The Pentagon.” She put her hand to her head as if she had a headache. “He coordinates military attaché appointments around the world.”
The slight dread turned into a rush of ice that swept over Jed’s body. “Your ex works for the Defense Intelligence Agency, and you didn’t tell me?”
The expression on her face was misery stacked with guilt. “I know I should have, but I didn’t think it mattered when we were at the safe house and then after the attack.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “I forgot for a while.”
DIA? Holy shit. The woman had probably just sunk his career without even knowing it.
“…the search continues for Veronica Vincent and her son, Michael, who were abducted from federal protective custody yesterday and are feared dead…”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
He jammed his hand through his short hair. “Should we call him? Inform him you’re safe?”
Icy distance entered her entire demeanor—expression, posture, voice. “I called him when we were at the hospital after the attack.” Even though she held herself rigidly under control, Jed spotted the sheen of tears in her eyes. “He never called back. Am I really supposed to think he gives a damn about us now?”
Jed held onto his anger for half a second and then dragged her against him, not understanding how much what she thought of him mattered until she relaxed in his arms. Damn. Her ex was a prick. He squeezed her so hard it had to hurt, but he didn’t let go. Her hair was soft against his lips. The scent of her shampoo fragrant and sweet. Then he looked up and froze.
He shifted them both slightly and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Look. Look at what Michael is doing…”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Michael drew with absolute determined concentration. He’d been at it for hours.
Vivi stood as if to go to him, but Jed caught her arm.
“He needs to eat.” She tried to pull away, but he held onto her as gently as possibly.
“Put a sandwich and a drink beside him. I’ll do it.” He stood and went to the fridge. She followed.
Her eyes narrowed. “He also needs to rest.”
“He needs this more.”
Protectiveness flared. “You do, you mean.”
He sighed. Patient. “We all do, remember?”
She flinched and pulled away. He let her go, wishing he could recapture some of that earlier connection and trust, but her child was under pressure, and she was worried about him. Jed was fine with that. But their opinions on what was best for Michael differed. He thought Michael needed to get this out of his system and dammit, yes, Jed needed to find a way to save a career that was probably already shot. If that made him an asshole, he was a fucking asshole. Nothing new there.
Defense Intelligence Agency. Shit. Why couldn’t the guy be a used car salesman?
It didn’t matter. Even if he’d known, he wouldn’t have done anything differently, except maybe tell Frazer what was going on.
After another thirty minutes, Jed couldn’t take sitting still any longer. He left the cabin, checking the perimeter for footprints in an effort to work off some of his energy. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but his skin felt itchy, and he couldn’t settle. Maybe the fact he was on the verge of a massive breakthrough with the case? He called his brother Liam, the police chief, who’d agreed to keep an eye out for any strangers coming into town and do regular drive-bys of all the local routes, running vehicle checks on anything suspicious. Nothing untoward as yet.
When he got back to the cabin, Michael was still drawing, Vivi was still pacing, and he was still on edge.
He waited.
And waited.
Every forty minutes or so, Michael would set aside a finished drawing, and now Jed had a bunch of images, some of which touched him unexpectedly. The first one was of him holding Vivi in his arms earlier in the kitchen. Something about the moment had motivated the kid to pick up the pencil and draw. Jed didn’t know what it was, but he was damn glad. The picture was so skillfully drawn, Jed could see all the emotions he was trying to hide as he tucked Vivi against his chest. Anxiety, anger, lust.
She r
emained silent as he slipped the drawing into the back of his own art pad.
His father was next, the likeness so incredible, the image so detailed Jed wouldn’t have believed the phenomena if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes. His dad had a scar on his left eyebrow and a tiny mole on his nose. The kid had drawn both perfectly. To see these drawings come from an eight-year-old’s pencil was a little unnerving, like the kid had been possessed by Picasso or Michael Angelo with a camera-like memory. No wonder Vivi was convinced his talent was savant-like.
“Who’s this?” Jed asked Vivi, holding up an image of a broad-faced black man.
“The nurse from the hospital.” She avoided looking at the likenesses of Dr. Hinkle and both marshals.
“Michael really is incredibly talented.”
“I know.” Those navy blue eyes of hers held a seriousness now. A reserve. He knew he’d put it there.
“I’m sorry for being angry about your ex, earlier. I had no right.” He should have found out for himself on day one, but he’d been too busy chasing his tail.
A brief frown crinkled her brow. “I should have told you.”
He stilled and really looked at her. “When we left the safe house I gave you the chance to go to him for help. Why didn’t you?” He took a step closer, a subtle sort of anger stirring inside him, one he was familiar with. One that came from the thought of people hurting others just because they could. “Did he hit you too?” DIA or not he’d put his fist in the man’s face if he’d touched her.
She shook her head. “He never lifted a finger against me.” The spark in her eyes suggested he wouldn’t dare. “But he mocked and belittled me, often in front of others. It seems like such a small thing looking back on it, but it corroded everything I thought we had together.” She paused, clearly weighing her words. “Have you ever had a relationship that turned so sour that every memory you have is tainted by what happened at the end?”
Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) Page 20