Then he'd thrown it all away because he let his small head make the decisions.
"Zoo?"
"Term of endearment for the Academy. One of those repeatable in mixed company."
"Well, maybe it's a stupid assumption on my part, but I figured that if someone gave four years of their academic life and then twelve, thirteen years of their professional life to one employer, they'd want to retire with the nice, cushy pension you're eligible for at twenty."
"Shit happens.” Crap, he was not going to get into it with this woman. She was his partner, not his confessor.
"O-kay. I can take a hint.” She moved a few steps in front of him, her gaze directed down as she dodged rocks and tree roots.
Double damn, he hadn't meant to be so brusque. It was just that he didn't want to talk about Greta. There wasn't a damn thing he could do to change his current situation, so why discuss it to death? What would Miss Prim and Proper think if she knew the truth? Of course, given some of the rumors swirling around about him, her opinion of him was probably pretty low already.
Was that why she hadn't wanted him with her? She'd claimed it was because he was green. But it could have been because she'd formed a low opinion of him based on what she'd heard. She'd already admitted she'd paid attention to the rumors. Well, shit.
Except that she'd been nothing but professional and polite since her request for a new partner got shot down.
Well, hell, this woman twisted him up like a pretzel in a way he hadn't been since ... since ... Serena.
The ground came rushing up at him, all dirt and crushed leaves. He tripped, over the realization or a tree root, he didn't know. But instead of landing face first with a mouth full of Mother Nature, he ended up with his face buried in Katrina's chest getting a mouth full of nature's finest. Damn, she smelled like baby powder and her skin was as soft as an ankle biter's butt.
"Are you okay?"
Braedon looked up into a pair of sunglasses reflecting his own eyes. Was she blushing behind those mirrored lenses? “I'm fine, just tripped. Thanks for the catch.” Oh yeah, thanks. He'd trip anytime if it meant a face first landing in a pair of the best looking twins he'd ever seen.
Katrina's nipples tightened as Powell's hot breath seeped through the thin material of her shirt and sports bra. Shoot, this was no time to get a nipple hard on, not with his face still pressed to her breasts. Bracing her hands on his forearms—his hard muscled forearms—she took a step back and paused to make sure he had his balance. She was beginning to wish she'd never jumped in front of him to keep him from falling.
The innocent touch of his cheek to her chest set her nerves on edge and sent her hormones into overdrive. Sensation skipped up and down her spine, teasing her clit until it throbbed. This man called out to her long suppressed bad girl without any effort on his part. Her inner wild child was ready to toss the backpacks to the ground and roll around in the leaves.
She refused to allow that to happen. She'd locked that part of her away in solitary confinement with no chance of parole. The punishment was the very least of what she deserved.
Powell straightened to his full height and shifted his backpack. “Thanks for catching me. For a minute there, I thought I was going to be eating leaves."
"I'm just glad my reflexes were quick enough.” Parts of her were really glad.
"Let's get moving. The further we get tonight, the sooner we get there tomorrow morning."
Her body resented the loss of Powell's heat. It had been so long since a man had been even that close to her breasts. Over five years, her body informed her, since just after she'd transferred to the Philadelphia office. She'd been too busy in grad school to really date, especially between both working and going to school full-time. Once she'd completed her doctorate and joined the Bureau, she'd tried to date. Men not in law enforcement were either intimidated by her or turned on in a very unflattering sick sort of way. Coworkers brought their own set of problems, not the least of which was the awkwardness if it didn't work out or when she wouldn't put out. So she'd scratched that group of available men off her too short list. After a while, it became easier to concentrate on her career. By the time she'd moved to Pennsylvania, she'd given up on men all together and turned to BOB, her battery operated boyfriend. He didn't care what she did for a living and didn't get bent out of shape if she wasn't in the mood.
She'd gotten used to taking care of herself.
A few short days with Powell had her body charged up and ready to try again. He had the bad girl she'd locked away rattling her cage, trying to pick the lock and break free. Katrina couldn't afford to let that happen. The results would be disastrous.
Her mind flashed back to her college days.
She'd gone to a small co-ed school just north of Baltimore, Maryland. It had only recently gone co-ed, and was still overwhelmingly female. So she and her friends did what scores of women before them had done, they went to the closest mostly male school for some action. Lucky for them, the closest school that fit that description was the United States Navel Academy. Men in uniform. Double yum.
Katrina cut loose and partied hard her first three years in college. She'd been the quintessential good girl growing up and all through high school. She'd obeyed curfew, she'd made her dates keep their hands to themselves—when she'd been allowed to date—and she got straight A's. All that changed once she went away to school. The only thing that remained constant were the grades.
Wild and rebellious, she spent her weekends partying. She quickly learned the bars that didn't check for ID, the places frequented by cute guys, when the midshipmen at Annapolis got liberty. She applied that newfound knowledge with a diligence that would have made her professors proud.
Until it all came crashing down around her one night after returning from semester break of her junior year. She and her best friend, the woman who'd become the sister she'd never had, had gone to Annapolis to help several of the firsties, cadets in their final year at the Naval Academy, celebrate their upcoming graduation. Midshipmen were prohibited from drinking while in uniform—and they had to wear their uniform when they left campus for liberty—so the men nursed sodas over dinner while Katrina and Meg nursed several glasses of wine. The evening wound down as the guys had to return to “The Yard."
A light rain misted in the air and covered the ground. Katrina slid into the passenger seat, more than slightly buzzed, and prepared for the half an hour return trip to Baltimore, where Meg had sublet an apartment for the semester near her internship position with a local museum. The late night and the rain blurred the markings on the short stretch of Route 301 between Annapolis and Baltimore, making driving hazardous. Too hazardous.
The next thing she remembered was waking up in the shock trauma unit of the University of Maryland's Medical Center, hooked up to monitors and IVs and in pain. Oh, the pain. But nothing compared to the gut-wrenching grief that crashed over her when they told her that Meg had died in the accident.
An accident that was all her fault.
When she was released from the hospital a month later, she stuffed that wild, rebellious child in the deepest, darkest corner of her soul. Oh, no, she'd never allow that part of her to surface ever again. No matter how much Powell called to her. It wasn't worth the risk to others.
Nothing mattered but honoring Meg's memory.
Not Powell. Not how good he'd make her feel. Especially not how good he'd make her feel.
* * * *
"So, what brought you to the hallowed halls of the Bureau?” The sound of Powell's voice punctured the silence and the cocoon of her thoughts.
Fair enough question, considering she'd already tried to pry inside his psyche. Not that she planned to tell him her secrets any more than he'd let her in on his. “A desire to bring justice to the guilty. A desire to find justice for the innocent victims.” A burning need to atone for her guilt, to right the wrong she'd done Meg, when she let her get behind the wheel of the car that night. Meg was supposed to have bee
n the designated driver, but Katrina knew she'd been drinking.
"So you've always wanted to be a federal agent?” He looked over his shoulder at her, his hazel eyes glinting with curiosity.
"More or less. I've always been interested in forensics and criminal science. I love to know what makes people tick."
"Just don't go trying any of that psychiatric mumbo-jumbo on me."
"Hiding secrets from me, Powell?"
"We all have secrets, Kat—Katrina.” The spark in his eyes told her that he hadn't accidentally slipped and called her by her old nickname.
This man was more dangerous than she'd ever imagined. She could only hope and pray they'd quickly find the killer. The less time spent alone with him, the better.
"You know where I went to school, where'd you go to school?"
"I graduated from college in 1992 with a degree in psychology."
"Ah, so you're an older woman!"
How did he manage to make that sound sexy and mysterious? If only he knew that she was three years older than him, not the mere year he thought. What would he think then? It had taken her a year to recover from the injuries sustained in the accident and another year to recover enough from the emotional scars to function at anything resembling a normal level.
"Which college?"
"A small school north of Baltimore. It had been an all women's school until right before I enrolled.” She wasn't sure why she was so reluctant to name the school. It wasn't like he'd know it or have heard of the accident since he'd been in Colorado at the time.
"A place where women outnumbered men. Sounds like heaven.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, clearly aiming to rile her up.
"You've spent most of your life in male-dominated environments. Does it bother you to have to defer to a woman?"
"The only thing I ask of the person in charge is competence. From what I've seen and heard, you are one of the most competent Special Agents around.” His gaze was leveled at her full of sincerity.
She hadn't expected a compliment from her partner, hadn't been fishing for one. “Thank you.” She nodded her head.
"I heard a rumor that you're actually Dr. Boyd."
"I earned my doctorate in Criminal Justice."
He whistled. “Maybe I'll just start calling you ‘Doc.’”
"I didn't earn my doctorate for the ego stroke of being called Doctor Boyd. I earned it to help me succeed in my job.” She knew she bristled up and got defensive, but she didn't like being treated any differently just because she could sign “Ph.D.” after her name. She'd worked hard to complete her education, going to school full-time and working at least forty hours a week at a treatment center for sexual offenders in New York City. For five long years, she hadn't just burned the candle at both ends, she melted the damn thing into a puddle of wax.
Powell showed a great deal of wisdom by stepping around that issue. “How long have you been with the Bureau?"
"Almost ten years. I applied before graduation and started at Quantico with the first training class possible."
"And here you are."
"Here I am.” Hiking the Appalachian Trail with the most incredibly handsome man she'd ever seen. With his ruggedly masculine features, he looked at ease in their current environment, more like a man born to wear shorts and hiking boots than a suit and tie. “Here we both are."
Falling a step or two behind, she imagined him in a flight suit. The material would stretch over his broad shoulders, much like the tight t-shirt he currently wore. A flight suit, however, couldn't possibly make his butt look any more appealing than it did right now, encased in well-worn khaki shorts. A light smattering of hair dusted his muscled thighs and calves. A stray thought attacked her, causing her to wonder if the same dusting of hair covered his chest.
Jeezy-peezy. What the hell was she doing ogling this man? She double-timed her steps until she fell into a rhythm just in front of him, preventing her from admiring his drool-worthy form. Not that she had the ability to drool, the mere sight of him dried up all the moisture in her mouth as it caused a flood to drench her panties.
The remainder of their day was spent in comfortable silence or discussing Philadelphia. Powell had never so much as visited the City of Brotherly Love until given his assignment at NAT. Once New Agent Training ended, he'd packed up some of his belongings and headed north. He'd lucked into a sublet from a Special Agent going deep undercover for six months to a year and ever since had been searching out his own place. Katrina was glad to share her knowledge of the city, remembering all too well being overwhelmed by the move. She stopped short of telling him that a condo in her building was about to go on the market. She was helpful. She wasn't stupid.
The sun dropped lower on the horizon, a glowing orb off to their left, filtering through the trees. Powell began to scout for a secure place to pitch their tent for the night.
Saints preserve her. She'd better get that wild child restrained before they had to zip inside a tent for a long, dark night.
* * * *
Braedon focused his attention on securing their campsite.
It was either that or pay attention to the woman setting up the rest of the area. And the generous display of boob she offered up for view every time she bent over. One more flash of the white sports bra and he'd be pitching a bigger tent in his pants than on the ground.
He'd been celibate too damn long if glimpses of a plain white cotton bra gave him a woody. Of course, maybe the problem wasn't the fact that such an innocent sight was having such a profound effect on him. Maybe the problem was the fact that in the past, nothing had been able to stir much interest. He hadn't really been interested in Greta. He'd just gotten tired of fighting her off. He struggled to remember the last woman who'd sparked a genuine interest.
Nope, it had to be the fact he hadn't gotten a piece of anything for so long he'd begun to wonder if he should buy his right hand a gift.
That was his story and he was sticking to it.
As he threaded the thin tube into its corresponding nylon sheath, his body reacted with stunning swiftness. Holy crap. He hadn't been this affected by a woman since ... well, since ... Just plain since. Since her, he'd been the one in control, called all the shots. His cock got engaged when he told it to engage. Period. That wasn't about to change. He'd rein in his traitorous trouser rat if he had to beat it upside the head. Except he seriously doubted he'd have the privacy for that any time soon.
Shit.
Mastering his focus, he set up the tent on top of the waterproof ground cover he'd bought during their shopping adventure and tossed the sleeping bags inside. Couldn't be too careful when it came to staying dry. Being inside a wet tent ... his mind veered off to thoughts of being inside a warm, wet, willing woman. A warm, wet, willing woman named...
"Ka—” His heart thudded to a stop at the sight of Katrina bent over, tending to the fire and making dinner. Strange, he'd never pictured her for the domestic type. A sick feeling roiled in his stomach and he broke out in a cold sweat. His brain tried to tell his foot to take a step forward, to break the spell of this cozy little scene. Said foot refused to obey. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot, watching her in profile.
As if she felt him staring at her, she turned in his direction. “Oh, you're done. I thought it would take you longer to get the tent together."
"Well, it's not a very big tent.” In fact, he'd go so far as to say the damn thing was shrinking by the minute, in direct inverse proportion to what was growing in his pants.
Shitshitshit.
The crackling and popping of the fire broke his lust-induced paralysis and drew him closer to Katrina. The small blaze heated a pot of what smelled like coffee and what looked suspiciously like MRE beef stew. Meals Ready to Eat, the staple diet of any soldier in country and on his own. He'd eaten enough of the damn things to gag a rhino. Since he'd purposely avoided any meal that bore any resemblance to an MRE, his intellect knew it was simple camping fare beef stew. Now he just had to convinc
e his eyes and taste buds.
"I'll keep watching dinner, such as it is, if you want to go get us some water."
Water, right. They'd chosen their location because of a nearby ramshackle wooden shelter with a spring and a privy. The small stream gurgling close by also rated in the decision. “Sounds like a plan.” Anything to give him the chance to whip his wits back into shape. He grabbed the container, dropped a couple of water purification tablets to the bottom, and headed off.
Once out of the line of sight, he adjusted his hard-on, relieving the pressure against his zipper. It was probably too late to prevent permanent teeth marks, but at least his cock wasn't contorted in some God-awful painful angle. Pushing forward, he completed his task and returned to the campsite to find Katrina seated cross-legged on the ground.
"Perfect timing."
"And why is that?” His thoughts jumped ahead to all sorts of possibilities in which she wasn't interested. And he shouldn't be either.
"Dinner just started to bubble and pop.” She pressed up on her knees, spoon and cup in hand to dole out a generous serving. “I hope you're hungry. I sure am.” She pressed the tin cup into his hand before dishing up an equally healthy helping for herself.
Attacking the rather pleasant tasting stew with gusto, she settled back on her butt. The scene felt far too domestic for his piece of mind.
"You don't have to take care of the cooking. I'm perfectly capable of pulling my own weight."
"I'm sure you are. I can't wait to find out how well you heat up processed food. Just like I intend to pull my weight when it comes to setting up the tent."
A chuckle escaped when she looked over at the tent as if it were the most repulsive thing known to man. At least she didn't look at him like that.
Not that it mattered. He was in control of his dick. Which throbbed in an attempt to assert dominance.
Time for diversionary tactics. “Fine, we can start with you taking it apart in the morning."
"Deal."
Dinner passed pleasantly enough as they tried to identify the varieties of trees around their temporary home away from home. The setting sun made even that innocuous conversation take on an intimate feel.
Trail of Desire [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 2] Page 5