Beyond Risk

by Connie Mann

  His tenderness undid her. Where did such a hard guy find such soft words?

  He leaned in and kissed each eyelid. “You are tough and tender and the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And if you don’t want me to kiss you, you’d better run. Right. Now.”

  Charlee’s hand on his chest froze, and her eyes met his. Could she trust his words? Did he mean what he’d said? His eyes gleamed like green fire as he slowly pulled her closer and leaned in, giving her time to change her mind. She ignored the doubts, the insecurity clanging in her head as his lips met hers in a kiss that felt like…home. He kept the pressure light as he explored and tasted and let her get used to him.

  Charlee sighed and leaned into the kiss, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough.

  She gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer until her breasts pressed against his chest. She sighed with relief as his hands settled at her hips, then he reached around and pulled her even closer, cupped her backside until there wasn’t an inch of her not plastered to every inch of him. She cupped the back of his head as he nuzzled her neck, breathing in that unique combination of sandalwood and pure male. His skin felt amazing, but it still wasn’t enough.

  Some dim corner of her mind knew he was letting her set the pace, take what she wanted. So she opened her mouth and slid her tongue inside. The kiss went from smoldering to wildfire in the blink of an eye, and she felt the heat spread out from her core over every inch of her body, pooling low in her belly.

  Hunter kept one hand around her waist, anchoring her to him, and buried the other in her hair as the kiss went deeper. Charlee ran her tongue over his teeth and growled low in her throat when she felt him shudder. She’d never been kissed like this, as though she didn’t know where he ended and she began. Her heart pounded as she pressed closer, wanting more, deeper. Nothing had prepared her for the overwhelming sensations he stirred in her.

  His hand slipped under her shirt, and the feel of his calloused palm made her shiver. He eased her back far enough to tug the fabric out of the way.

  The lights flicked back on.

  He growled low in his throat as Charlee stepped back, blinking against the light. He pulled her back toward him, but it was too late. In that split second, desire turned to doubt. She couldn’t do this. Didn’t trust these new and confusing feelings he stirred in her. Wasn’t sure yet that she could completely trust his motives, but even more important, trust herself and her instincts. The way Hunter acted toward her, the things he said, they were nothing like Abrams. But still, uncertainty churned in her gut. She knew it had to do with her screwed-up instincts, her insecurities, far more than it did with Hunter. Still. Until she was sure of herself, she couldn’t risk letting someone get too close, couldn’t let down her barriers.

  “Charlee,” he started, but nothing else came out.

  She just shook her head, then turned and escaped back into the house.

  * * *

  Hunter let out a slow breath, then grabbed his soggy shirt and wrung it out. He scanned the sky before he went inside.

  The storm was almost past, but the power could still be iffy. With well water, without power, you didn’t have water, either, so he figured he’d grab a quick shower while he could. Otherwise, he just might try to change her mind.

  He took several deep breaths as he rooted around in his go bag and then showered quickly, window open, making sure he hadn’t missed anything outside, but he heard nothing but the fading rumble of thunder as the storm moved away. He lathered his hair, smiling at the sight of his shampoo bottle next to Charlee’s on the shower shelf. That felt right. Comfortable. Homey. But he wanted so much more…

  * * *

  Charlee curled up on the sofa, listening to the receding storm and trying to ignore the fact that Hunter was in her shower. Her hands still tingled from where she’d touched him. Even though it had only been a kiss, the words he’d said and the way he’d looked at her had been more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced in her life.

  She picked up the journal her mother had given her and glanced at the article she’d been reading before the power went out. She’d heard the term “gaslighting” before, but never thought of it in relation to her. Narcissists and manipulators twisted the truth around so carefully and gradually that they got their victims to doubt themselves, to take the blame for things that weren’t their fault, and even, in extreme cases, made them doubt their own sanity. As she’d read the descriptions, she’d felt her chest tighten as her mind catalogued all the times she’d felt that way with Rick.

  She jumped up and started pacing. How could she have been so foolish? So gullible? She was trained law enforcement. She should have been able to see through him. But she hadn’t, not until it was too late. Was Hunter doing the same thing? She thought about his words and the way he looked at her and thought, no. Maybe? How was she supposed to tell?

  All she knew was that he made her feel safe and protected in ways she never had before. He treated her like an equal, and when he looked at her, she felt like he really saw her—and liked what he saw.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she walked down the hall and found herself standing with her hand on the bathroom doorknob, knees trembling. What if she just walked in, eased open the shower curtain and climbed in there with him? The idea was insane, and it made her shiver with want and uncertainty. She wasn’t the kind of woman who took sexual risks. Ever. At least she never had been before. She closed her eyes, and her skin tingled at the mental image of Hunter naked, soap running over all that hard muscle.

  She swallowed hard. You are so beautiful. His words echoed in her mind, and she started to turn the knob. I never lie.

  She eased the door open a crack and took a deep breath while she argued with herself.

  A knock sounded on the front door, and she jumped. She snatched her hand away and spun toward the front door. Before she could get there, someone knocked again, harder this time. Her heart started pounding. Was something wrong with Mama? She rushed over to the old-fashioned glass door but stopped just before she flung it open. She stepped off to the side, away from the glass. “Who is it?”

  “Paul Harris. Open up.”

  What did he want? Behind her, the lights flickered several times but stayed on. She unlocked the dead bolt and pulled the door open a crack. “Hello, Paul. What brings you out here in this kind of weather?” She looked past him. “Where’s Wyatt?”

  The man looked awful. The porch light reflected his wrinkled clothes, which smelled pretty rank, too, hair that stood on end from running his fingers through it, grief that twisted his face. Before she realized what he intended, he shoved the door all the way open and moved past her into the room.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  He reached behind him and closed the door, and now Charlee saw the wild look in his eyes. This was not the same pulled-together businessman she’d met before his daughter died and his world got turned inside out.

  Charlee widened her stance and kept her voice low, but firm. “I’ll ask you again, Paul. What are you doing here? And where’s Wyatt?”

  He must have noticed her tone, for he finally stopped pacing and looked her square in the eye. Something dark floated there and kicked her caution up several notches. When they’d gotten home earlier, Charlee had tucked her gun into her bedside drawer, while Hunter had stashed his service weapon in the end table next to the sofa where he’d been sleeping. She started edging in that direction.

  Her question about Wyatt seemed to surprise him. “He’s back at the hotel. Playing one of those stupid video games.” His eyes darted around the living room, then bounced back to her. “You have to find out who did this, Charlee. You have to find out who killed my baby.” His voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard.

  “I know FWC is working with the sheriff’s department, and they’re doing everything they can to figure out what happe
ned.”

  “She shouldn’t have died. That should never have happened. My baby should still be alive.”

  Charlee kept her eyes steady on his. “Yes, she should. Everything in me wishes she were.”

  He stepped closer, and Charlee eased around the sofa, keeping it between them. Two more steps to get the gun.

  “Why haven’t they arrested anyone?”

  No way would she tell him Oliver was the prime suspect and he was in the wind. “I don’t know all the details of the investigation, Paul. I’m a civilian, just like you. But I do know they’re working very hard to find answers.”

  “You’re lying. You know exactly what’s going on, since you’re having sex with Boudreau. Is that why you’re doing it? So he’ll tell you what’s happening?”

  Charlee took the insult without flinching. She casually leaned on the end table, kept him talking as she slid her hand into the drawer. “How did you find out where I live, anyway?”

  He snorted. “You’re not that hard to find, Charlotte.”

  Just as her hand closed around Hunter’s weapon, Paul pulled a gun from behind his back, pointed it at her.

  She had Hunter’s gun pointed at Paul almost before he could blink. “Put the gun down, Paul. For my safety and yours.”

  He acted like he hadn’t heard. “Tell them to stop harassing me. Tell them to stop following me, stop asking questions, stop blaming me, and find the real person who killed my daughter!”

  Charlee kept her eyes locked on Paul’s as Hunter quietly stepped up behind Paul and snatched the gun from his hand. He had Paul’s arm twisted behind his back before the other man realized he was there.

  “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

  “You should have thought of that before you pulled a gun on Charlee.”

  “I didn’t hurt her. I wasn’t going to. It’s not loaded. I just…” He broke down and started sobbing.

  Hunter pulled a wooden side chair out with his foot and shoved the other man into it. He checked to make sure the gun really wasn’t loaded, then tucked it behind his back. “Sit. I need to make a call.”

  While Hunter called dispatch and requested someone from the sheriff’s department come transport Harris, Charlee handed Hunter his gun, then pulled out another chair and sat down, facing Paul—but safely out of his reach—as he sobbed into his hands. “Paul, talk to me. What’s going on?”

  He swiped at his tear-stained face, looked from Charlee to Hunter and back again. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a crazy person. I’m usually not like this. Losing Brittany…” He wiped his nose on the shoulder of his shirt. “I can’t seem to get it together. And instead of trying to find whoever did this, they keep questioning me, keep asking what I had to gain.”

  “Who keeps questioning you?” Charlee asked quietly.

  He pointed an accusing finger at Hunter, who stood just out of reach of Paul’s chair, arms folded, cop face firmly in place.

  “Sheriff’s office, FWC, I don’t even know anymore. They all want to know about stuff that happened a long time ago. I don’t care about any of that. I just want to know what happened to Brittany. I want whoever did this to pay for it.”

  “Brittany went to White Springs Academy, right?” she asked.

  “You already know that.”

  “Did she know a boy named JJ? He had an older sister, Nora.”

  Paul leaped from his chair, and Hunter said, “Sit down,” in a tone that froze him in his tracks. “That’s what they keep asking me!” He sank back down on the chair.

  “Did Brittany know JJ?” she asked.

  “That’s the boy who died last year. The sister didn’t go to the school. I think she already graduated.” He pulled on his hair. “I don’t even know anymore.”

  “What was Brittany’s reaction to JJ’s death?”

  “All the kids were really shaken up by it. It was horrible.”

  Hunter and Charlee exchanged glances, then Hunter asked, “What do you remember about the day JJ died?”

  Charlee knew Hunter was looking for a connection, tugging threads to see what unraveled. She kept her eyes steady on Paul, who looked genuinely bewildered. “Why would I remember anything about it? I didn’t know the boy.”

  “Because it was all over the news, and your daughter would have talked to you about it.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “So where were you that day?”

  He started to get up again, but Hunter put his hand on his weapon, so Paul settled for glaring at him. “I sell pharmaceuticals. I travel a lot. I would have to check my records, because I don’t remember.”

  “We already checked. You didn’t have any appointments that day, and you didn’t check in with the office. Where were you?”

  Paul shrugged. “If I wasn’t working, I would have been home. Things weren’t good between my wife and me. I spent a lot of time driving around, thinking.” He speared a finger in Hunter’s direction. “But that doesn’t mean I killed anyone.”

  “But it does mean you don’t have an alibi for the time in question.”

  Paul jumped up. “Why would I need an alibi? I thought the papers said it was an accident.”

  “I told you to sit.” He waited until Paul complied, then said, “We’re going to find out.” Hunter walked over to the front door as footsteps came onto the porch. He greeted the sheriff’s deputy, gave him the info he needed, then waited while the other man entered the room, cuffed Paul’s hands behind his back, read him his rights, and escorted him to the door.

  “You can’t arrest me! It wasn’t even loaded!”

  Hunter’s expression was as hard as steel. “Child protective services will take care of Wyatt until you’re released. After that, you should take your daughter home for burial. The ME has released her body.”

  Paul aimed a malevolent look at Hunter as he was escorted to the waiting patrol car. Another deputy climbed into Paul’s car and followed them.

  Hunter shut the door and redid the locks, then leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest. “Why did you let him in?”

  Charlee went on the defensive. “I didn’t. I saw who it was and opened the door a crack. He forced his way in.”

  She’d assumed Paul posed no danger, which had been stupid. A rookie mistake. She was already kicking herself for it, but she didn’t need him to rub it in. As she walked past him, Hunter spun her around. She slammed into his hard chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. “If that gun had been loaded, he could have shot you.”

  Charlee fought the urge to wince and narrowed her eyes, tried to bluff her way through. “Give me a little more credit. The man is a wreck. Completely destroyed by his grief.”

  “Which we both know significantly upped the chances of him shooting first and thinking later.”

  It galled her to admit he was right. “Okay, yes. I shouldn’t have let him get past me. Satisfied?”

  His green eyes speared into hers. “I won’t be satisfied until we find whoever is behind all this and I know you’re safe.”

  She wanted to protest that she could keep herself safe, but given the last few minutes, she couldn’t say the words. Here she’d been starting to think maybe she did have what it took to go back to FWC and to protect her family, and then she’d proved once again that her instincts were completely screwed up. If she couldn’t make smart decisions on the simple stuff, how could she be trusted to handle bigger things, life-or-death things?

  Self-doubt swamped her, and she looked down, tried to hide. Hunter tucked a finger under her chin until she had to look up. Everything in her stilled at the emotion swirling in his eyes. Worry. Concern. Want.

  “I care about you, cher.” Time seemed to stretch as they looked at each other, all the words they couldn’t say pulling them closer. Charlee wasn’t sure who moved, but next thing she knew, Hunter was kissing her like a soldier just
returned from war. This kiss wasn’t gentle, it was harsh and primitive, and Charlee felt his hands on her like a brand, making her feel safe and protected. As always.

  But therein lay the problem. She couldn’t just stand in his shadow, hide behind him. She had to be an equal partner. She had to know she could protect herself and her loved ones on her own. And right now, she had nothing but doubts. She broke the kiss and eased away.

  Until she knew herself, had learned to trust herself and her instincts again, she couldn’t get involved. Not even with Hunter.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered and let her head fall against his chest. His hands gentled, rubbing up and down her back, a stark contrast to their harsh breathing and the way his heart thundered against her ear.

  “Look at me.” Hunter cupped her cheeks, brought her face up so their eyes met. “It’s your call, always. Trust your gut.” He paused, and his expression hardened. “You can trust me, too. I’m not Abrams.”

  Charlee stammered and tried to find the words to explain. “I wasn’t… I didn’t…”

  Hunter had the nerve to laugh. “Never play poker, cher. You’d lose. Whether this”—he made a back-and-forth motion between them—“ever goes any further or not, we’re best friends, and we’ll stay that way. I’ll have your back, always.” Then he leaned in closer and whispered, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about touching every gorgeous inch of you.”

  He let her go, and Charlee stepped back, swallowed hard. She hurried to the kitchen for a bag of chips and jar of salsa, trying to wipe the tempting images from her mind and calm her racing heart. How could she explain what she didn’t completely understand herself?

  When she got back, Hunter lounged on the couch, bare feet stretched out on the coffee table, pretending the last several minutes never happened.

  They watched some inane comedy, and she tried not to notice his muscular legs or the way his T-shirt hugged his hard chest. Every nerve ending felt alive in ways she’d never felt before, so she never expected to fall asleep. But then she knew, somehow, that she was in the dream. She clawed and fought against the hands gripping her throat, sucking in huge gulps of air as she broke free and raced toward safety. But safety kept getting farther and farther away, and behind her, the gator was gaining speed, a bomb tied to the top of its head. She had to get to Brittany, but the mud kept slowing her down. No matter how hard she tried and how fast she ran, she couldn’t reach her. She kept sinking under the water.