by Zoe Dawson
His hips lifted off the bed when her mouth found him hard and pulsing. There was no way he could hide how she affected him. Her tongue swirled and he almost lost his mind. Needing her, he dragged her up his body and she forced his hands down by his head. Another tremor shuddered through her, and her body rose up, then lowered onto his throbbing erection, taking him deep inside her, where he needed to be.
Derrick clenched his jaw against the sharp, electrifying surge of feeling, his shoulders coming off the mattress as she moved once, twice against him. His heartbeat frenzied in his chest, his pulse thick and heavy, he tightened his fingers through hers in a white-knuckle grip, turning his head against the pillow.
Ah, damn. He was in love with her. It was over, and he was a goner.
Bending over him, she stroked her hands over his biceps, his shoulders, his chest, deep satisfaction purring in her throat, her breasts grazing his chest. “Derrick…” she whispered brokenly. “Oh, Derrick.” Another shudder coursed through her, and her breath caught as she flexed her hips, her hot, wet tightness gripping him, stroking him, drawing him closer and closer.
An agony of sensation shot through him, and he rolled his head again, the cords of his neck taut, and he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. He wanted her, he wanted her so badly, to just let go and come out of the shadows, to ride the hard, swelling need. Give in to her.
Then she moved again, taking him ever deeper inside her, and he went under, the fever claiming him. He groaned and flexed beneath her, driving inside her. He couldn’t stop.
In the morning they were driven to the airport for a six-hour flight back to San Diego. When they landed, they grabbed their luggage and headed out of the airport. Standing in the busy meeting area, where people were hailing cabs and crowding the curb and circling around, looking for their friends and family, Emma put her hand on his arm. “Would you come with me to the hospital?”
He should really get into the office but couldn’t say no to her. They hailed a cab to her house and picked up her car, then drove to the NAB hospital.
When the elevator stopped on Lily’s floor, guards were visible in the hall and outside her room. So far there hadn’t been any more attempts on Lily’s life, but Derrick wasn’t thinking that Ortega had given up. He was biding his time. That was all. It was going to be a race against the clock to get to him before all this died down and Emma and Lily were deemed out of danger.
He suspected Ortega wasn’t going to let any of Matty’s relatives live.
Lily looked the same, beautiful, vulnerable and young, except her bruises were healing. The doctor came into the room and said, “Hello, Ms. St. John. Your sister is doing very well. There is quite a lot of brain activity. We’re optimistic.”
Emma clutched his hand, squeezing hard. “Thank you, Doctor. That is such good news, something I really needed right now.”
The doctor left and Derrick, too intuitive for his own good, knew she needed a hug. He pulled her against him, pressing her ashen face against his shoulder. She meant so much to him. He felt her chest heave, and she pressed her face tighter against him; then, on another uneven breath, she slid her arms around his waist and held on for dear life.
Trying to ease the sudden knot in his throat, he tightened his arms around her and rested his head on top of hers, the hard knot of tension in his belly finally letting go. He gave her a few moments to regain her equilibrium; then he began rubbing her back. It took about thirty seconds, but she finally went slack against him, and he felt her take another deep breath. Running his other hand up her neck under her hair, he shifted his head and rested his cheek against her temple.
His voice was low when he murmured, “I’m going to get us some coffee.”
She settled in a chair by the bed and said, “I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you.” Emma nodded, turning to talk to her unconscious sister.
As he exited the room, Derrick experienced a shot of guilt, and he felt like a first-class bastard. Inhaling heavily, he stared straight ahead and headed for the coffee machine.
An hour later they got off the elevator in the parking garage and at the car, he stopped her and said, “We have two options here, Emma. We can find a good restaurant and go for a late lunch or early dinner, or we can go to my place, and I’ll fix you something amazing when we get there.”
He was rewarded with a shaky laugh. “I think maybe you’d better tell me if you can cook or not.”
He made a face. “Details.”
She smiled as his arms went around her, flattening her hands against his back. Experiencing a flurry of emotions, he tucked his head tighter against hers and caressed the base of her skull with his thumb, her hair like silk against his hand. Waiting for the thickness in his chest to settle, he continued to stroke her neck, wishing like hell they were somewhere out of public view. He gave them both a minute, then he eased his hold a little and shifted her head so he could see her face. She looked pensive and worried.
Keeping it light, Derrick managed a smile. “So, pretty woman. What say you?”
“What are you having?” she said with a glimmer of dry humor in her eyes. “Hopefully something that doesn’t begin with ‘Cup O’…’”
He chuckled and rested his arms on her hips, determined to keep this light. “No, I can promise you something better than just a carton and steaming water.”
As though she was afraid of what he would see in her eyes, she dropped her gaze. “No restaurant, okay?” she whispered.
He gazed down at her bent head, her hair shining like metal in the sun, and his chest got tight all over again. “Pop-Tarts it is,” he answered, his voice husky.
She backhanded his arm and laughed as he reached for the door and opened it for her. “Would you mind driving?”
“Not at all.” Once she was tucked into the passenger’s side, he got behind the wheel, took a moment to acclimate himself to the controls, then drove out of the garage.
She looked at him, the strain gone from her face, a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes, and Derrick’s heart did a barrel roll in his chest.
“You’re good at that.”
“What?”
“Managing vehicles—planes, trains, motorcycles, boats, ships, aircraft carriers. I bet you can fly anything, drive anything and absorb it in minutes. Make split-second decisions.”
“If you’re asking me if I was a spy, just come out and ask me.”
“I got the feeling you don’t want to talk about that.”
Something sweet and warm unfolded in his chest, closely followed by a more sobering emotion. Feeling a little too exposed, he shifted his gaze and tugged on a loose strand of hair. “In the past, I’ve avoided it. But with you, it’s different.”
“Were you a spy, Derrick?”
“Yes, Emma. I was a CIA field officer. A spy, spook, ghost, shadow. Man in Black.” He swallowed. He’d never told anyone, but it seemed right to tell Emma.
“I thought so, but having you confirm it feels…very good.” He took her hand and pressed it against his thigh, covering it with his own. Her only response was to turn her hand palm up, lacing her fingers through his. When he glanced at her, she was sitting with her head tipped back against the headrest, her eyes closed, as if absorbing the quiet. She looked serene and relaxed, but he could see the rigid tension along her jawline, as though she had her teeth clenched. Derrick tightened his hold on her hand, refocusing his attention on the road, his own jaw tensing. He felt as if he were standing at the edge of a deep, dark precipice, with very little room, and if he made one wrong move… He shifted in his seat. He didn’t even dare think about it.
The sun had dipped in the sky by the time they reached his house by the ocean, and he pulled into his garage, his stomach grumbling. He opened the door for her, and she reached up and caressed his jaw. His lungs suddenly tight, he gave her a quick kiss on the temple.
He dragged open the patio door and led her inside, dropping her car keys on the kitchen table. He grabbed a bottle of w
ine out of the fridge and held it up. She nodded and he poured her a glass. She settled at the bar, and he placed the goblet in front of her.
Pouring himself some, he raised it and she did, too. “To survival,” he murmured. She clinked his glass and drank. He filled a pan with water and set it on the stove.
She laughed. “That looks like you’re boiling water to me.”
He gave her a sidelong glance that had her softly sighing.
“You know you’re god-awful handsome, right?”
“Yeah, movie star potential,” he scoffed. Pulling out fixings for a salad, he started cutting tomatoes.
“You are, Derrick. Achingly handsome.”
He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”
“Tell me how you can sympathize with me so deeply on how it would be to never get Matty back.”
He picked up his wineglass and took a sip. “I have a son, Emma. One that I can’t claim and can never see, interact with, or support.”
She gasped and choked on her wine. “Oh, Derrick.” She stared at him, her eyes wide.
“It was a terrible mistake on my part. I got involved with an asset. Someone who could help with taking down a terrorist organization. It was my mission. I…fell in love with her and got her pregnant. An unmarried, pregnant woman would have been in danger.” He closed his eyes. “But more important, if my handler had ever found out, I would have been pulled and the mission in jeopardy.”
“What did you do?”
At the sound of the bubbling pot, he turned, reaching for the angel hair pasta, dropping the noodles into the water. “She married someone she was close to and gave birth to my son under a different man’s name.”
“How old is he?”
“Nine.”
She got up and walked around the island and wrapped her arms around his waist. His expression serious, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “What is his name?”
“Israr.”
“That’s beautiful, sounds very masculine.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, running her hand along his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Derrick. That must be so hard on you. Never to know him,” she whispered, her voice uneven. “You’ve been through so much in your life.”
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him, his voice gruff when he said, “It hurts every day, but I’m secure in knowing that they are both safe.”
Her expression softened, and she kissed his mouth.
She held him for a moment. Then she looked at the boiling water and said, “Hmm, I think I’ve been hoodwinked. Sure, looks like boiling water and…noodles to me.”
He chuckled, drawing her into a tight embrace. He closed his eyes, his heart turning over. Just like Afsana and her family, he would keep Emma safe and she would never know the agony of not having her nephew in her life.
Chapter Sixteen
Emma sat back in her desk chair and stared out the window, frustrated beyond belief. She’d tried everything, exhausted all her contacts, but after two weeks digging and following up even the smallest lead, she had nothing.
Her cell phone rang, and when she looked at the display, she let out a soft groan. It was a call from her grandmother.
She answered. “Yes, Bess.”
“I’m in the lobby of your office building. I’m coming up.”
“I’m busy.”
“Emma, make time. I will be there in five minutes.”
She ended the call and gritted her teeth.
Emma wasn’t in the mood for an argument with her battle-ax of a grandmother, but there was no way to get out of it.
Her grandmother had a perfectly cut page-boy haircut, sensible shoes and an impeccable beige suit; Emma swore she had nothing else in her closet to wear on her ruthlessly maintained body. She charged through the door exactly five minutes later. Her mouth was pinched in a line, the sanctimonious tilt of her chin and her righteous confidence she wore like armor meaning she was spoiling for a fight.
There was never any greeting with Bess. No quick hugs and smiles or hellos. She just got right to the point. “Emma, what progress have you made? The State Department tells me that until they find Matthew, they can’t really start any legal proceedings. The Colombians have been cooperative, but unless they can discover where that slime drug lord has our boy, their hands are tied.”
“I’m still working on it.”
“It’s been weeks! You call yourself a private investigator? We have to get him back before Lily wakes up.”
Emma clenched and unclenched her jaw, then spoke, her voice deadly quiet. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m doing the best I can,” she said.
A muscle in her jaw twitched, and she drew a deep breath. “It’s not good enough.”
She gave her a cold smile. “It never is, Bess. I was never good enough and neither was Lily. Why do you even care? You never even acknowledged him before now. What has changed?”
She narrowed her eyes, a warning glint appearing. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Why not, Grandmother?”
“I am your elder and the woman that raised you. You will have respect.”
“Respect is earned.” Emma sighed. “I’ve got an appointment,” Emma said, and grabbed her purse. She didn’t have anywhere to go, but she couldn’t stand being in her grandmother’s presence anymore. Bess caught her arm and hauled her up short, and Emma jerked her arm free and turned to face her. “There’s no need to talk about this anymore. I’m doing my best. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m done talking to you.”
Bess grabbed her arm and steered her over to a chair, her jaw set in determination. “Too bad, missy. We’re going to talk anyway. Sit.”
Jerking her arm free again, Emma turned to face her grandmother. “I’m not a dog.”
“Sit, Emma.”
With an exasperated huff, Emma sat down. Folding her arms in a defensive stance, she stared across the room. She gave herself a minute, then she spoke, her voice taut. “What is it you want to talk about?”
She released her breath in a frustrated sigh; then she said, “I have money, plenty of it. There are mercenaries out there for hire, are there not?”
Emma made a soft sound and dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, for the love of God.”
When Emma raised her head, Bess met her gaze, and Emma was aware she was an inch away from losing her temper. Totally at a loss. “We can’t hire mercenaries because we don’t know where Matty is, Bess. We have to find him first.”
An anguished look crossed her face and all the steam seemed to go out of her like a deflating balloon. Her voice caught and she reached for a chair, sinking down on the cushion. “You’re right. I’m grasping at straws.”
Emma had never heard that defeated, soft tone in her grandmother’s voice before. She was also so…strong, distant, unapproachable. But her eyes grew moist. “All these years, I thought I was raising you both so well, to be tough, to weather anything. Lily was fragile and you both were so little when you came to me. But it was my fear and my failing that I couldn’t let you in. I was so raw after your father and mother were killed. I thought I could keep from loving you, not getting hurt if something happened to you, but all I’ve done is drive you both away. And now Matthew… I can’t bear it that he’s with that man and we’re all so fragmented. What you said to me was very hurtful, and I had to do a lot of soul searching the last few weeks. I’m sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry.”
Emma gaped at her grandmother, unable to believe the words coming out of her mouth. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She closed her eyes and said, “Bess, it’s best to leave this up to me and NCIS. Please, just go home. I’ll let you know when I know something. I promise.”
The look in her eyes was the old Bess, strong enough to strip steel. “You promise me, Emma.”
“Yes.”
“And if you need money for mercenaries or anything to get him back…you’ll come
to me?” she demanded, her voice shaking.
She closed her eyes. Her voice hoarse. “Yes. I’ll come to you.”
“All right, then.” Bess rose and put her hand on Emma’s arm and squeezed. “Find him, Emma, and bring him home.”
Immobilized with gut-wrenching pain and fear, she sat there staring at the far wall. Finally, she rose and headed for the elevators, so much pressure boiling up in her that she could barely see. She had to find him. She had to. She walked out of the building, the frenzy in her chest making her tremble, the anger and the fear mixing into explosive proportions.
She drove to Camp Pendleton and got admittance as a visitor to NCIS. She rode up in the elevator and when she stepped out, she just stood there as if she couldn’t find her way. Derrick spied her and rose, the smile at seeing her fading from his face.
He came to her and she clutched at him. Without saying anything, he took her down the hall and into the conference room. “Have you heard something? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find him. I’ve tried everything, Derrick.” As if everything was crowding in on her, she wrapped her arms around herself. She worked at keeping her cool, then said, her voice barely audible, “Are your people even still looking for him?”
“Of course, we’re still looking,” he said, just as frustrated as she was. “I’m working on it every chance I get.”
Her face ashen and her voice wobbling, she said, “But it’s not a priority anymore?”
He’d forced himself to remain disengaged—not allowing any kind of feeling to surface. But now, as she stood there, her animation gone, the vibrancy beat right out of her, he experienced a rush of rage. She was beside herself with worry, her sister was still in a coma and her nephew was taken by a ruthless drug lord. He wanted to kill somebody.
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, and Derrick could see tears gathering in her lashes. “He cannot be raised by that man. I won’t have it.” Her despair cut him to the quick. And something gave way inside him. He covered the space separating them, grasping her hands between his. He’d already crossed the line anyway.