Under the Agent's Protection

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  After cursing under his breath, Larry said, “I need the keys to my truck.” He pointed to Wyatt. “That guy took them.”

  “Go ahead, Mr. Thornton. Give them back,” said the sheriff.

  Wyatt uttered a curse of his own as he fished them from his jeans and slid them across the table. Larry scooped up the keys and shoved them into his pocket.

  “This is total crap,” said Larry as he stood. His chair teetered back before toppling and clattering to the ground. Larry kicked it out of the way, then stalked to the door and disappeared into the hallway.

  “Let me handle this,” said Marcus Jones as he got to his feet. “I’ll keep an eye on Larry for now.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” said Wyatt before the other man left.

  Everly folded her arms tightly across her chest. She glared at the sheriff, her green eyes flashing with incredulity. “Are you kidding me? You’re just going to let Larry go? You heard him—he doesn’t have an alibi for the night my brother was killed. Or last night, when I was attacked. He works in the hotel, which means he might’ve attacked me yesterday morning, as well.”

  “Now might be a good time to tell me about the attacks you just mentioned.”

  Everly caught the sheriff up to speed on everything that had happened, not leaving out any details. As she finished, she said, “You can’t just let Larry go.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t throw people in to jail without a reason,” said Haak. “He was voluntarily answering the questions we asked, and his answers make enough sense that I’m not placing him in custody. But, I am putting him under twenty-four/seven surveillance. If he tries to leave town, we’ll know.”

  “Is that it?” asked Everly. Her tone dripped with the same skepticism that Wyatt felt.

  Wyatt clenched his jaw. To Haak, he said, “I want a murder investigation opened. We need a search warrant to get into Larry’s apartment now, before he disposes of any evidence. Or worse, skips town and we never see him again.”

  “Why don’t you give me all of the evidence you’ve collected?” suggested the sheriff. “I’ll review everything again.”

  With only two weeks left on the job, Wyatt wondered how diligent the sheriff would be with any new investigation. That meant it was up to Wyatt, and hell would freeze over before he gave Haak any information he collected. “That’s not good enough,” he said.

  “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again—I’ve kept this town safe for decades. I’m not going to get everyone into a panic for no reason, especially since I only have a few weeks on the job.”

  “I get it,” Wyatt said. “You don’t want to sully your reputation with an at-large serial killer, not when you’re retiring in a few days.”

  “That’s a harsh criticism and I won’t have it,” said the sheriff. “This town has been my life and I won’t have you two show up and cause an upheaval for a lot of people.”

  Wyatt wasn’t certain if he should believe the sheriff or not. Either way, he decided that that lawman was irrelevant. Besides, wasn’t it working with a team that had ruined Wyatt’s career all those years ago?

  “Tell you what,” said Wyatt. “I’m going to keep looking into this case. Because I know we’re on the right track.”

  “Do what you have to do,” the sheriff said. “I will get a deputy to follow Larry around like I promised.” Haak stood slowly and picked up his hat. “In fact, I’ll see to it now.”

  The sheriff left the room and it was Wyatt’s turn to be pinned by Everly’s fiery stare. “What was that all about?” she asked. “Are you just going to let the sheriff ignore the facts? I thought you wanted the serial killer brought to justice.”

  Wyatt sighed. “Haak is a decent man, but he’s old and has some misguided notion of needing a legacy.” He continued, “Or maybe he’s just tired. Either way, it’s obvious that he’s not going to give this investigation the attention it needs.”

  “And you will?” asked Everly, finishing Wyatt’s sentence for him.

  It was exactly what he’d planned. In fact, this was a perfect scenario—Wyatt’s continued investigation had been given the blessing of a disinterested sheriff. Along with his expertise and the resources of RMJ, Wyatt would have the chance to rewrite history. To catch the killer and erase the stain on his career. Hell, on his life. Like an electric current under his skin, Wyatt itched to begin the hunt.

  “Will you give the investigation all the attention it needs?” Everly asked, repeating her question.

  Giving a noncommittal shrug, Wyatt asked, “Why is that a problem?”

  “It depends,” she said.

  The room was silent, save for the beating of Wyatt’s heart and the whisper of Everly’s breath. His skin suddenly felt too tight. “It depends on what?”

  “On whether you plan on having me help—or not. Because you aren’t getting rid of me, Wyatt Thornton. I won’t rest until my brother gets justice.”

  Wyatt didn’t hate the idea of Everly staying around for a few more days. And the fact that Wyatt wanted Everly to stay with him was the biggest danger of all.

  Chapter 9

  Everly sat at the computer desk in Wyatt’s living room. A fire burned in the hearth and the late-afternoon sun shone through the windows. They had once again found a copy of Larry Walker’s criminal history and the computer glowed with a litany of misdeeds.

  “Here’s what we know,” said Wyatt. “Larry Walker doesn’t fit the textbook definition of a serial killer. Serial killers are sly and cunning. Larry Walker is the human equivalent of a bullhorn.”

  “But he is a violent man, who happened to fight with Axl the night he died. He also had access to all of the other victims,” she said. “Besides, he fits your initial profile—age, gender, ethnicity.”

  “True, but there are a lot of crimes on his rap sheet and none of them are close to murder.”

  “There’s a progression of violence. Troubled kid. Drugs. Larceny. Assault. Jumping to murder isn’t a big leap.”

  Wyatt paused and she knew that she’d scored a point.

  After a moment, he spoke. “If Larry were to kill someone, it’d be in a fit of rage. A shot to the head over a woman or a fistfight gone awry.”

  Everly sucked in a breath. “What is it that you’re trying to do, Wyatt? Prove that Larry isn’t guilty?”

  He shook his head. “Look, I’m covering my tracks. I was wrong about a suspect before. I’m not going to be wrong again.” He sighed. “More even than the profile not matching perfectly, is that fact that there’s no direct link between Larry and any of the victims—here or in Las Vegas—other than your brother. Without that, we’ll have a hell of a time proving that he’s guilty.”

  “So, what do we do? Go back to RMJ and use their equipment?”

  “We could,” said Wyatt. “Sometimes all a case needs is some old-school investigating. I have a buddy with the Las Vegas Police Department. He owes me a favor. Now might be the time to cash in.”

  He placed a call on his cell. Turning on the speaker, Wyatt set the phone on the desk. After the third ring, a man’s voice came over the line. “This is Davis.”

  “Davis, this is Wyatt Thornton,” he said.

  “Wyatt? Where the hell have you been, man? I never thought that I’d hear from you again, not after how it ended here.”

  “I’m...not with the Bureau anymore. Actually, because of how things went down, but that’s why I’m calling. Some information has come my way about that case, and I was hoping I could call in a favor.”

  “You know I owe you, man. Ask away.”

  “Can you run a name for me? Lawrence or Larry Walker.” Wyatt added in Larry’s birthdate. “I need residences. Places of employment. Anything you got.”

  “That might be too big of a favor,” said Davis. He paused a beat and added, “Without a reason, at least.”

  “A bo
dy turned up in Pleasant Pines, Wyoming. The circumstances are similar to Las Vegas.”

  “Similar how?” Davis asked.

  Wyatt paused. Could he trust Davis? All the same, there was a more important question he knew that he should be asking. What was the likelihood that Davis would help without the facts?

  “Two-dollar bill, ripped in half, in the victim’s wallet. High BAC. No other trauma. Good looking Caucasian male,” said Wyatt, running down the list.

  Davis cursed. “Same thing we had here.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  “Without a warrant this would have to be on the down-low,” said Davis. “But you knew that already. Is this the best number to call?”

  “It is,” said Wyatt. “And thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” said Davis. “I haven’t given you any information.”

  The line beeped and went dead.

  “Now what do we do?” she asked. “Wait?”

  “There’s not much more we can do now.”

  “This sucks,” she said.

  His palm rested on the desk, and he inched closer, his fingers grazed hers. Everly’s breath caught.

  It was such a simple gesture, barely a touch, but it made her pulse race, and her body throb with heat. It was futile to lie—even to herself. The small caress of his fingers held the promise of much, much more.

  Was that really what Everly wanted? To lose herself in Wyatt’s arms...? To feel his lips on her mouth? To burn with desire as his touch scorched her skin? To savor the breathless moment when he entered her fully?

  Then again, could she really get tangled up with her emotions when the only thing she should be focusing on was finding her brother’s killer?

  Like ice had been poured into her veins, Everly froze. She pulled her hand away and moved to the window seat. Placing her palms on the sill, she stared at the jagged Rocky Mountains in the distance. The sky had turned to rose and violet. The distant peaks were black in the waning light.

  Everly longed to fall into Wyatt’s arms and let him take away all of her worries, even if it was for a single night. But that would be a terrible mistake. He was helping her find Axl’s killer. How would they navigate their tenuous partnership if they slept together?

  A sob escaped her throat. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself be distracted by thoughts of something like sex. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She scrubbed her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “Because,” said Wyatt, “you’ve been through a lot of trauma in a few short days. Your brother’s been killed. You were attacked. This is a lot to take on.”

  Sad didn’t seem a large enough word for Everly’s emotions. She was filled with rage and hatred and despair and loneliness and anguish and, yes, sadness. “Axl was a real wanderer. He traveled all over the country—he’d go anywhere for work, really loved his job. Just going from one assignment to the next. But I always knew that eventually he’d come home. Now? That’ll never happen again.”

  “Do you have other family?”

  She shook her head. “Our parents died when I was a junior in college in a car crash. Axl was in art school and moved back to Chicago just so I could come home over breaks. He always looked out for me.”

  Wyatt took a seat next to Everly and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He pulled her to him, and she leaned into the embrace. The tears seemed endless, but eventually the crying stopped. Everly let Wyatt hold her.

  Originally, Everly had sought out Wyatt for his expertise. It was a decision that had been driven by desperation and fear.

  What would happen if she stayed—enveloped in Wyatt’s embrace?

  “Do you think it’s safe for me to go back into town and try staying at the inn tonight?”

  “No,” he said simply. “I don’t. Not while the killer is still at large. In fact, I don’t really think it’s safe for you anywhere.”

  A trace of his breath tickled her cheek. Everly knew she should move away, and yet, she was rooted to the spot. “I mean, since our prime suspect is being watched by the police, he can’t exactly attack me again.”

  “I hate to say it, but having him under surveillance isn’t foolproof. You hope that the subject doesn’t sneak away,” said Wyatt. He shook his head. “More than that, what if Larry isn’t guilty? That means someone else is the killer. Someone outside our surveillance.”

  “I don’t want to die,” she said. Everly was exhausted. She turned to the window, pressing her palms onto the glass.

  “Then stay,” he offered. Wyatt moved closer, shoulder-to-shoulder, and placed his hand next to hers.

  “Stay, and then what?” she asked.

  “Stay with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Yes, that’s what she wanted—needed. In Wyatt’s arms, Everly could pretend that the world was safe and beautiful. It would be a lie, but it was her lie—and certainly no one would get hurt by her small fib.

  Everly studied Wyatt in the reflective glass. His image looked worn, faded—like a ghost. Yet she knew all too well that he was flesh and blood. A steady pulse rose and fell in the hollow of his throat. She reached out again, surer this time, and placed her palm over Wyatt’s hand.

  His gaze dropped to where they were connected. She slid her fingers between his and closed the space between them. She pressed her breasts into his hard chest and rose up on tiptoe to lick the seam of his lips. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her hard, drawing Everly in closer still. She gave a gasp of surprise and Wyatt placed his lips on hers.

  Wyatt slipped his tongue into her mouth. Everly opened herself as he explored, tasted, conquered. And she was in the mood to be taken captive.

  He sat her on the window seat and tilted her back. Cold from the glass seeped through her sweater and chilled her flesh. The heat from Wyatt’s body was scalding. Ice and fire. Wyatt lifted the fabric of Everly’s sweater up inch by inch, and she shivered with anticipation. Her nipples were already hard, and he stroked them through the silky fabric of her bra.

  “Wyatt,” she breathed, unable to think of anything beyond the man who claimed her with his touch and kisses.

  He broke away, his eyes searching her face. His eyebrows were drawn together. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She was trembling. “I’m fine.”

  “These past few days have been a lot for you,” he said. “I doubt that you’re fine.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we won’t do anything you don’t want to. I don’t want to take advantage because of this situation you’re in.”

  She raked her fingers through his hair and jerked his head back, exposing his throat. Everly ran her tongue over his flesh, tasting the salt of his skin. “I’m no china doll,” she said. “I won’t break.”

  Wyatt gave a low growl of desire. “I can see that.”

  “I want you, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt’s hand traveled to Everly’s rear. He squeezed.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked. His grip tightened. The front of his jeans pressed against her. He was hard.

  “Yes,” she said.

  His hand moved back to her breast. He rubbed his thumb over her hard nipple. The sensation was delicious. “This?” he asked as his lips brushed hers. “Do you want this?”

  Gooseflesh covered Everly’s skin, yet she wanted a more intimate touch. “Yes,” she gasped.

  Wyatt’s fingers trailed from her chest to her waist. He opened a button on her pants and pulled down the zipper, exposing the lace at the top of her panties. His hand slipped inside the fabric. She was already wet. He applied the slightest pressure to the top of her sex, rubbing in a slow circle.

  “Do you want me to do this?” he asked.

  “I want you, Wyatt,” she said.

  Already, Everly co
uld feel that she was being taken away by the current of yearning. In answer to his question, she rocked her hips forward and opened her thighs, offering herself to Wyatt. He buried his finger inside of her and her muscles clenched around him. He began to use long, slow strokes. She reached for Wyatt, pulling his mouth to hers. She kissed him deeply, hungrily, as if she might never be sated.

  He pulled away from the kiss. His thumb stroked the top of her sex and his fingers still moved inside of her. “Look at me,” he said.

  Slowly, she met his gaze.

  “You are so beautiful, Everly Baker. I want to watch you. Your eyes. Your mouth. The flush of your cheeks. I want you to see me.”

  He thrust inside her again, harder this time. Everly gasped. Her skin was too close-fitting, and she feared that she might burst with unfulfilled longing. Wyatt continued to bring her pleasure with his hand and her eyes never left his. His jaw tensed, and his dark gaze held yearning, barely restrained. Yet, there was more to his look. He saw Everly—truly saw her. He saw her loss and fear and determination. He understood her need for more than justice, but vengeance.

  And he didn’t find her lacking for the flaws.

  A haze filled her vision as Wyatt brought her closer to the brink of passion. She tried to focus on him, his deep brown eyes, the stubble on his chin. It was no use. She was too close to the edge. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Resting her head back on the cold glass, Everly cried out as she finally let go.

  Wyatt’s mouth was on hers, smothering her cries of delight with his hot kisses.

  “I’m not done with you,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”

  The echoes of her pleasure still resonated through her body, and her knees were weak. “You aren’t done with me,” she teased lightly. “My legs won’t even hold me upright.”

  “No need,” said Wyatt, as he held himself above her. An amber glow from the fire shone from behind, casting him in shadow. Nothing seemed real and yet, this was no dream.

  Wyatt slipped off one of Everly’s boots. He pressed his strong fingers into the pad of her foot, easing away tension she never knew she held.