Hot Pursuit- the Complete Collection

by Liza Mitchell

  “I’ve laid everything out on the table for you today. All I’ve been is human.”

  “Mmm.” She canted her head playfully. “You’ve been a little brutish, but I’m not complaining.”

  “Fuck, woman, you are driving me mad with this shit.”

  The corners of her mouth curled. “Do you think it’s an accident? Now, tell me who the victims are.”

  “I will. Inside.” He turned and left her standing in the middle of the lot. Her turn to chase him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ______________

  CAREY

  She was fucked. The entire drive, she’d tried to hold on to her anger. Her frustration. He’d left her hot and really fucking bothered… again. But she couldn’t really blame him, could she? She’d set the rules. And while she was having a ton of fun toying with him like a cat with a mouse, batting him back and forth between hot and cold, eventually she’d have to decide–should she set him free or eat him alive? Although, honestly, who was the cat and who was the mouse? If she let Dawson win on the terms she set, would she lose that much?

  Carey bounced up the courthouse steps a few feet behind him. He didn’t even have to check to make sure she was following; he knew she’d be here. It was that confidence, that arrogance that had first drawn her to him. And the same game, the same hunt, that had ensnared her. It wasn’t until the real world intervened that it was destroyed. But did she still blame him? She made so much more money working for Canter’s private agency than Lakeside would have ever paid her. When she worked for the county, she was just a tool. The county decided who was guilty and who was innocent. Who got a deal and who got hit with the book. Sometimes her findings were contorted and manipulated to fit with the prosecutor’s theory. With Canter, they agreed what cases she would work on. She helped innocent people fight an uphill battle.

  Her firing was more on the head of the District Attorney at the time… and her own. They should have never kissed while they worked together. That would have put his cases at risk and brought her evidence into question. But they didn’t work for the same team anymore.

  When he reached the door of the courthouse, Dawson paused and held it open for her, his hand falling into the small of his back when she passed by him.

  “What? No scolding?” he challenged.

  “It’s common courtesy. Any decent human being would do it.”

  His hand slid from the arch of her spine and over the curve of her ass as he slipped in behind her. “I’m far from decent,” he whispered.

  Chills skittered down her back as a contradictory heat rose from her core and brushed across her cheeks.

  She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through pursed lips. “Can we just— Let’s get to the record room and get this figured out.”

  “This way,” he said slipping his hand in hers and leading her to a stairwell.

  “Are you going to tell me what you figured out about the victims?” she asked Dawson.

  “You first. How did you figure out the crime scene?”

  “We used to party there in high school. There’s a half cut down tree that we call the throne. I saw it just on the edge of a photo. I know Sloane told you where I was going, but how did you find me exactly?”

  “I figured out pretty quickly where you were going. We used to hide from parents there too. Hell, I’m sure my parents even got high in the woods.”

  “Then do you think leaving that odd tree in a photo was an oversight on the perp’s part? I would think only locals would know about that place, and if he’s local, then he would know it’s distinctive.”

  Their footsteps echoed throughout the cinderblock stairwell as they made their way to the basement. And when they finally made it to the bottom, Carey took two large steps, reaching the door before Dawson, suppressing a smile as she held it open for him.

  The records room was a vast space filled with neat aisles of shelves lined with boxes. The basement held all the documents for city hall, the court, the police department, and all the municipalities. Lakeside was one on those counties where everything could actually mysteriously disappear in a flood.

  Their voices echoed off the high ceiling as Dawson took a seat at a computer and Carey leaned against a large conference table.

  “So tell me about our victims,” Carey urged.

  “They’re the jurors.”

  “Fuck, no. How? Why? Dawson, this is going to be impossible.”

  “Sloane sent me over the file for the fingerprints from Taylor’s thumbs. And it was weird that none of the prints pulled criminal files. Think about it. You want to kidnap a dozen people. Twelve is what he’s threatening. Your average schmuck is going to have a hard enough time with one. Logic would dictate, if you want twelve, you would pick people with a high-risk lifestyle or that were especially vulnerable. Addicts, sex workers, children, disabled, elderly, homeless.

  “High-risk victims are likely to have some sort of record, even if it's just loitering. But none of our thumbs pulled any of that.

  “No kids, not even young adults.

  “Then, I recognized one of them.”

  Carey’s jaw dropped. Up until that point, everything was mostly coincidental. Twelve middle-aged adults without criminal records could really be almost anyone. How could Dawson have actually recognized a juror? “Talk about burying the lede. How could you possibly recognize a juror? And if you did, why the hell are we still standing here? Let’s get the file!”

  “I can’t remember the details of the case.” Dawson scrubbed his hands over his face. “It was an old black man. He was a holdout. I remember because I interviewed him so I could know why he voted not guilty. I know it was a husband and wife. I can remember that from our conversation.”

  “In the crime scene photos, there’s evidence of a struggle with heel marks from a woman’s dress shoe.”

  “Be we haven’t digitized everything, and I have no fucking clue where to start to find this case.”

  “Okay. Sit down, maybe we’ll get lucky.” She stood behind him, staring at the screen. “All of these are search options? Just put in the juror’s name.”

  “Not one of the fields. We can search any of the other combinations, but there’s no guarantee it’s in there.”

  “We know male perp, female victim.”

  “Don’t narrow it down, Carey.”

  “Listen, Debbie Downer, just type,” Carey scolded. “You're supposed to be arrogant and cocky, even now.”

  He turned and glared at her over his shoulder. “Not two hours ago you complained about that.”

  She smirked. “I’m a complicated woman. We know it went to trial.” She gestured to the screen, urging him to turn around.

  “You are going to be fucking in for it,” he whispered as he turned around, stoking the fire inside of her back to life.

  “I don’t think there was a body. I don’t know if that means it’s a no-body case or if it wasn’t a murder. Any crime scene pictures taken would have had the body in them.”

  “Or there was a secondary location,” Dawson countered.

  “Good point. I’m in the pictures and you remembered the juror, so we know it was during the years we worked together and you prosecuted the trial.” She paused and paced around the table, flipping through the photos and Sloane’s notes. “I think that’s all we know.”

  Dawson’s eyes scanned the screen. “I just wish there was something, anything that was an ace in the hole.”

  “Is there any place for location?”

  “There is, but I’m not even going to start to guess how the fuck someone would have written that clearing on their report. This search is going to take an hour to begin with. I don’t want to put inaccurate information in and have to do it twice.”

  Her heart sank. “You’re kidding. An hour? Is there a legion of squirrels that searches through the files for you?”

  “It’s faster than reading them.”

  “Okay, well, the physical files are organized by date, right?
Tell me where to start.”

  Dawson pushed his chair out and locked the solid oak door to the records room. “No. We have unfinished business,” he said as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ______________

  DAWSON

  He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. He should take her home. He should bring her to a bed. He should give her the world. And he would. Right now, he needed her.

  She melted into arms, her body molding to every crest and fall of his body. A small sigh escaped her lips. It was as if all if her resolve and animosity were leaving her body with that single exhale.

  “Carey.” He wrapped a loose strand of hair around his finger, twisting it into a rope, waiting for her to respond.

  A feline grin spread across her lips as she shifted on his lap. His cock pulsed. The challenge was just as arousing as her ass against his lap.

  “Carey,” he growled. His sternness only widened her smile as she stood up from his lap.

  His hand shot out, and he grabbed her wrist. “I’m not playing games.” But she wasn’t standing to walk away from him. Instead she narrowed her eyes and slowly hiked her skirt up her thighs. She swung a leg over his knees and settled down on his lap and covered his mouth with hers. Her tongue slipped across the seam of his lips, urging them to part.

  He groaned, sliding his hands under her ass, squeezing her curves.

  “Mine,” he snarled.

  She smiled against his lips and rolled her hips against his lap, matching the rhythm of her tongue that darted and swirled in and out of his mouth.

  His cock was turning to steel under her swaying hips. His cock that had been constantly teased by this fucking minx all day. His minx.

  Her hands came to his face and held him close. Her breath quickened, and she buried a hand in his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp.

  “Carey,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “Forgive me, please.”

  “I do.”

  “Then say it.”

  “I’m yours, Dawson. I haven’t belonged to anyone else.”

  His palms were still spread across her bare ass, fingers digging into her flesh. He flexed his hands, eliciting a sharp yelp from her.

  “You set the rules, you will play by them.”

  “But you changed them when you said that you could make me beg never to stop.” She nipped his lip playfully.

  A roar rumbled in his chest. He was done with games. Done with the chase. Done with the hunt. He’d caught her. She’d given herself to him.

  Dawson stood, lifting Carey and holding her to his chest. He deposited her on the large conference table, removed his tie, and shrugged off his suit coat.

  Her cheeks were a deep crimson that bled down to her chest. He tore her shirt and bra over her head, finally revealing her chest. Fucking finally.

  The flush continued down her torso and seemed to creep towards her deep, plum colored nipples. He captured one between his teeth, flicking the tip with his tongue until it stood at attention. He wrapped his arms around her, fingers spreading across her back, wanting to touch every inch of her.

  He wanted to step back, take her in. Every freckle. Every line. Every curve. Every inch of her that he’d dreamed about for the last three years. He didn’t need fantasy anymore; he had reality. But that would involve letting her go, and her wasn’t willing to do that yet. Or ever.

  His mouth traveled to her other breast, where he kissed and sucked her pebbled skin, eliciting soft mewls from his little minx.

  Her hands wrestled with his belt and trousers until his cock sprung free between them.

  Carey wrapped her hand around him, stroking his length, spreading his precum down from his crown.

  He leaned back and watched her hand slide along his cock. Her slender fingers didn’t even meet around his thickness. And her light pink manicured nails were coated in his precum, and there was just something so damn satisfying about making such a mess of her dainty fucking hands. His balls ached at the thought of doing the same thing to her pussy.

  Dawson’s fingers fell from her breasts to her knees. His gaze was still trained on her hand as he pulled her to the edge of the table and spread her legs. He dragged his thumb along her seam, covering the tip of it in her arousal. Carey’s breath brushed against his ear. He tilted his head and saw that she was just as mesmerized by their movements as he was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ______________

  CAREY

  Carey slipped her hand under his dick to gently cup his balls. She heard his breath hitch as she explored his body, her nails barely grazing his sensitive skin as she rolled him against her palm. She wanted to bring him to the edge, tempt him as far as he could go. But they were both playing a sinful game of chicken, and she might just lose.

  She watched his hand in anticipation. He’d more than proved his proficiency with her clit. All the teasing had left her desperate to come, desperate to be fucked—by his tongue or his fingers or his cock. Definitely his cock. She was ready to beg.

  Warmth spread through her as his hand teased her cunt, dancing around the only place she actually needed him. His breath was just as disjointed as hers.

  Her entire body hummed and pulsed. His thumb stoked a fire inside of her and her veins carried the desire to every inch of her body. She was seconds away from melting into the table, a pool of molten need.

  Carey peppered kisses against his cheek as she gathered a bead of precum on to the tip of her thumb. Dawson dragged his eyes up the length of her body until he met her gaze. His emerald eyes were hooded yet focused, like the eyes of a predator.

  She slipped her cum-covered finger between her lips, hollowing her cheeks, savoring the taste of his arousal.

  This was her Hail Mary, her final attempt to break him, because heaven knew she was seconds away from falling to her knees in supplication.

  The seconds stretched between them. Dawson’s hand still fluttered wickedly over her pussy. He stared at her as if he knew she was only one stroke away from combusting. He nudged at her entrance, teasing the place where they met, pushing ever so lightly, drawing his crown along her lips, his gaze never leaving hers.

  Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath seemed to skip beats with her rapid pulse. She was gone. She was his.

  “Please, please, please,” she whispered urgently. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands pulled at his hips.

  Their bodies collided. Dawson filled her in one stroke. His cock left no part of her untouched. She cried out, her voice catching in her throat, but as he claimed her cunt, he covered her mouth, swallowing her scream and claiming her pleasure.

  Dawson powered into her, his hand never leaving her clit and his mouth never leaving her lips. They were joined completely, and no matter where her hands traveled, what part of his body they explored, it was never enough. They ran down the rigid muscles of his back to his hips to his biceps, trying to learn every inch of him in this first frenzied encounter.

  Her legs started to shake, a warning of what was to come.

  Words tumbled from her mouth, a mostly inaudible warning to Dawson that she was going to come. She was going to shatter into pieces. Waves of heat washed over her as she wrapped her arms around him and whispered into his ear.

  “It’s okay,” he responded in a soothing tone. “I can stop.” He slowed his hips and stilled his thumb.

  “No, no, don’t stop, Dawson.” Her voice was ragged and desperate, and she dug her heels into his hips, urging him back to her.

  His hand wound around her hair, forcing her to look at him. “I love hearing you beg,” he growled before he powered into her.

  She exploded immediately. Dawson had found a spot deep inside of her that brought her crashing over the edge. She’d beg for him every day if he continued to do this to her. Her whole body buzzed with electricity that culminated in her pulsing cunt.

  Dawson’s hand tightened in her
hair as he drove into her fast and hard, riding through her orgasms. He came with a roar buried in her neck, his cock gliding through the warm cum he’d spilled inside of her.

  He refused to stop fucking her until the waves of her own orgasms subsided and she fell against him. Unable to move. Arms and legs left tingling in the aftermath.

  She’d wasted so many nights alone resenting him. Fuck, denying herself this had been just as much a punishment to her as it had been to him. She wouldn’t make the mistake of pushing him away again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ______________

  DAWSON

  “So, I’m forgiven, right? Clean slate? You’ll unblock my fucking number?” he asked, holding her against his chest. He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to leave her.

  “Mmhmm,” she purred. “Honestly, I’d give you anything right now. Just say the word.”

  “I only want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Dawson wrapped his arms around her. She fit perfectly against him. Her heartbeat pounded against his chest, and he wished he had waited until he’d gotten her to his bed to claim her. He could bury her under his blankets, and they could stay there sleeping and fucking and holding each other until they actually decided to leave that haven. Here, they would have to get dressed, clouded by passion, minutes away from being discovered.

  The computer behind him beeped softly, alerting them that the search was completed. Dawson was still in a drunken daze. He groaned and closed his eyes slowly, pressing a kiss onto Carey’s forehead.

  She shifted on the table, reaching for her discard clothes. “Come on, we have a lifetime ahead of us to fuck. Those jurors are facing a countdown clock with an unknown expiration date.”

  “A lifetime?” he asked. He got her for a lifetime. Dawson tightened his hold on her again, bringing his lips to hers. She whimpered softly and opened her mouth to him. Their movements were languid as they savored each other, blissfully happy with the idea of forever. Carey pulled away from him, licking her lips as she exhaled deeply. His cock twitched against her thigh. He still hadn’t met that tongue.