by Mary Stone
But now, a man was dead.
A federal agent was dead.
There was no coming back from the murder of an officer of the law. Even if Noah personally hand delivered the witness to the Russians, the stain of the other agent’s death would never come clean. That man’s ghost would follow Eric for the rest of his life.
And then…then there was Jon.
If what the Russians said was true, Jon had been shot in the stomach five days ago, and if Eric was honest with himself, he knew Jon was dead. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only possible outcome.
But in spite of the conclusion he’d drawn, his blood still froze in his veins when he saw the screen of his secret phone come to life. He’d been holding it in his hands…hoping…waiting…dreading.
With a fervent glance around the master bedroom, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He kept the open doorway in his periphery as he slunk to the bathroom.
Flicking a switch to turn on the overhead vent fan, he finally flipped open the prepaid phone.
“Hello?” The word was no more than a hoarse whisper.
“Hello, Eric.” The Russian accent and the bass of the man’s voice was familiar. He called himself Alek, but that was all Eric knew about the Russian. On any of the previous occasions Eric had spoken to him, his tone had been deathly calm. Tonight, there was an unmistakable air of petulance that simmered beneath that composed veneer.
Alek was on edge.
Eric had only seen the man once in person, but intimidating wasn’t an adequate enough term for the rough-looking Russian gangster. Alek lived and breathed the criminal underworld, and Eric didn’t want to know what in the hell might have riled him.
Before he could devote any more contemplation to the oddity, Alek continued. “This is just a reminder. You have two days, Eric. Two days before your daughter dies just like your son-in-law. You remember how he died, don’t you?”
All Eric could do was swallow the bile that had risen in his throat. Alek’s bleak statement blasted all his rationalizations about Jon’s wellbeing, and hope vanished into a cloud of nothingness.
Jon was dead.
Alek took his silence as a cue to continue. “He did well. He lasted almost twenty-four hours. I haven’t seen many people last that long. How long do you think Natalie will last? It’s been a few days since she had a meal, and she’s probably dehydrated. I don’t think she’d last as long as her husband.”
He wanted to shout, to scream. To berate the son of a bitch until his throat was raw.
If they were in the same room, he would have lunged for the prick’s throat. He would have been rebuffed, likely killed, but he would have tried.
Instead, all he could do was fight to keep himself from throwing up.
“Two days.” The Russian’s voice was clipped and impatient. “Two days and she dies just like her husband.”
With a light click, the line went dead.
If Eric didn’t know better, he would think that Alek was running out of time too.
Perhaps the thought should have been a source of comfort. Perhaps Eric should have taken solace in the fact that Alek might have been fighting for his life. Perhaps the knowledge should have served as a twisted sort of revenge. It should have, but Alek and Eric’s fates were now intertwined.
If Alek was cornered, he was that much more unpredictable.
Eric didn’t want to find out what happened when Alek’s time ran out.
20
After all that had happened in the past day, Winter didn’t understand how she was still awake at almost ten at night. She’d been up since close to five, and she’d only managed a few hours of sleep the night before. Though she might have drifted off at a couple points, each time she was snapped back to consciousness before sleep could fully take hold.
She had tried to force her thoughts back to the case, but the effort was for naught.
No matter the direction she tried to steer her contemplation, she wound up back in the same place.
She wound up in the driver’s side of her Civic with Noah in the passenger seat. He turned his head to meet her gaze, the faint glimmer of contentedness in his green eyes as his lips curved into a slight smile. A smile that made her knees weak and her face flush.
For so long, she’d pushed aside the feelings that his smile had evoked, but now, she wanted to revel in them.
She wanted to, but now she was almost certain that Noah didn’t want the same. Even if he still harbored those same feelings for her, she had kept something important from him, and she did it in a way that brought back unpleasant memories. Memories that were a reminder that she wasn’t trustworthy, and that he shouldn’t trust his heart in her hands.
What’s more, she had involved Autumn—their mutual friend. She’d put Autumn in the line of fire, and although her intent had been good, she could almost hear Autumn’s take on good intentions.
The road to hell is paved with them.
Winter wondered if that had been the woman’s senior quote in her high school yearbook.
With a groan, she flopped onto her stomach and buried her face in a pillow. She had come clean with Noah, but she didn’t feel the relief that was supposed to accompany such honesty.
All she felt now was more anxiety.
So far, he still hadn’t even mentioned the kiss. He hadn’t asked her about her motive, hadn’t even cracked an offhand joke to steer their discussion to the topic.
Then again, she hadn’t either. Maybe he was respecting her boundaries. And now, she’d be lucky if he ever confided in her again.
Grasping the plush comforter with one hand, Winter groaned as she flung the blankets to the side. The crisp air left a trail of goose bumps on the exposed skin of her legs.
When she flicked on the table lamp beside the bed, her eyes were drawn to a couple shooters she’d bought when they stopped at a gas station earlier.
She thought a stiff drink would relax her racing mind and tense muscles so she could sleep, but she’d been so disheartened by the strained conversation with Noah that she hadn’t bothered to test the theory before she crawled into bed.
The feeling of relief hadn’t washed over her yet because she hadn’t sat down to have a real conversation about her motive for keeping the information about the email to herself. If she did that, she was sure he would understand her point of view. It didn’t mean she was in the right—she could accept that she’d screwed up. But Noah wasn’t unreasonable. He’d understand.
He had to understand.
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she brushed both hands down the front of her loose-fitting t-shirt. Before she could give the idea a second thought, she snatched one of the little bottles off the television stand and twisted off the cap.
Ever since her college years, Winter tended to rotate through her preferred liquor. She didn’t drink to excess more than any average person, and compared to most law enforcement agents, she didn’t drink much at all.
Whether her drinking habits would change over the course of her career, she had yet to see.
Working for the bureau was a stressful job if it was done right, and a preferred method to alleviate stress among her colleagues was to crack open a bottle of booze. Hell, Aiden’s kitchen was just as well stocked as an average bar, and Autumn had worked as a bartender for four years.
Winter clenched her jaw, disgusted with herself.
There she went again—she was stalling by thinking about liquor. Before her thoughts could wander down another winding path, she brought the bottle of Southern Comfort to her lips and tilted back her head.
As the liquor burned its way down her throat, she realized she didn’t have a chaser.
“Son of a bitch,” she grated out as all the air left her lungs.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she swallowed in vain against the pervasive sting. She held the position as the seconds ticked away, and gradually, the burn receded to a comforting warmth.
Blinking away
the blur in her vision, she glanced to the second shooter, to the empty bottle in her hand, and then back. Though she could have used the liquid courage, she didn’t want to subject herself to another shot of Southern Comfort with no chaser. She wasn’t a seasoned drinker.
After another steadying breath, she nodded to the empty room and started for the door. Her head felt lighter, and some of the tension had slipped away from her body. She paused in front of a floor-length mirror to smooth her disheveled hair and wipe away the smudged liner beneath her eyes.
Running shorts, an old t-shirt, and flip-flops. Could Noah really expect any more from her at ten at night?
Why do you even care? She frowned as the question entered her mind. Why did she care? She was headed to his room to apologize, not do a striptease.
She caught herself before her brain latched onto the subject of her appearance in a subconscious effort to sidetrack her yet again. After one last glance to the disheveled bed, she pulled open the heavy door and stepped out into the hall.
But as she stood in front of his room, she realized she hadn’t even planned out what she wanted to say.
You don’t need a plan, dammit.
Blowing out a breath, she rapped her knuckles against the wooden door and waited.
And waited.
Great. He’d fallen asleep, and she’d suffered through a shot of straight Southern Comfort for absolutely nothing.
She should have sent him a damn text message.
Before she could heave a sigh and turn around, the door swung inward with a light creak. Noah squinted against the light from the hall and ran a hand through his messy hair.
For what felt like the first time, she allowed herself to fully take stock of his appearance. She’d always thought he was handsome, but there was now another level to the attraction. The shadows played along his toned forearms all the way up to the sleeve of his shirt. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his cheeks, but rather than messy, he looked rugged and mysterious. Dangerous, like he’d spent the day hunting down a demon or a werewolf.
She didn’t know when he had gotten so damn sexy, but it was downright distracting.
You’re here to apologize, not do a striptease, and not to ogle him. Maybe the Southern Comfort hadn’t been a good idea after all.
As she offered him her best effort at a smile, Winter hoped the strain on her face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Hey.”
Anxiety was written plainly across his face. “Hey.”
“Can I…” She had to pause to swallow against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Can I come in? To talk?”
With a slight nod, he held open the door and stepped to the side.
The flickering light of the television was the only illumination left once the door closed.
“Shit, did I wake you up?” The sudden uptick in her pulse was borne of equal parts embarrassment and anxiety.
I should have stayed in my room. What the hell am I doing?
She tried to push back the thoughts as she turned to face him.
Noah shook his head. “No. I was trying to pretend I was asleep.”
She searched his face in the dim light. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”
“No, I wasn’t being sarcastic.” He moved past her to sit at the edge of the bed. “I thought if I pretended I was asleep, maybe I could actually fall asleep.”
She managed another strained smile as she nodded. “Makes sense.”
A silence settled in between them in the dark room, the only sound the quiet din of the television. A cooking show, she noticed.
Tugging on the ends of her hair with one hand, she dropped her gaze to the carpeted floor. Even with the aid of the Southern Comfort, she couldn’t figure out where to start.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I can see why you’re worried, and I get it. You’ve got every right to be pissed at me, but…” She finally turned her gaze back to him. The effort was Herculean, and in the seconds that ensued, she wanted to look to the wall, the television, anywhere else.
Raking the fingers of one hand through his disheveled hair, he shook his head. “I didn’t mean to be a dick about it. I didn’t even realize what a sensitive subject it was until now, honestly. I figured the whole fucked up dynamic we had during the Kilroy case was in the past, and that was that. That’s how they make it seem in movies and books and shit, you know? Put it behind you, move on.”
“But it’s not that easy,” she finished for him. “None of it happens in a vacuum. That’s a quote straight from our favorite psychologist, by the way.”
A shadow of guilt passed behind his eyes. “Pretty sure she ain’t that keen on me anymore, either.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I saw her at the office this morning, and I may or may not have bit her head off because I thought she was hiding something.”
Winter blinked a few times at the confession. “Well, honestly? I’m sure she threw it right back at you, so you guys are probably square by now.”
From beneath his hand, he started to make a quiet noise that Winter couldn’t immediately place. Was he crying? God, she hoped not.
But when he dropped his hand back down to his lap, the corners of his eyes were creased as he chuckled. For a second, Winter was so relieved she thought she might be the one to cry.
When his green eyes met hers, his smile didn’t waver. “Are you sure you and Autumn aren’t long lost sisters or something? Sometimes, y’all are so much alike I wonder if you aren’t secretly clones of each other. Maybe whoever cloned you guys just gave her green eyes and whatever the hell hair color she has to throw off suspicion.”
Even as Winter rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation, she laughed a single “ha-ha.”
As she dropped down to sit, she caught the faint scent of his cologne—or soap, she honestly wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had become infatuated with the woodsy smell since he’d started to use it.
Or maybe she was just infatuated with it now that her heart pounded a forceful cadence against her chest.
Just as soon as the humor had come to life, it drifted away on the wings of the silence that rushed up to greet them in the ensuing seconds. Minutes. She didn’t know.
“I’m sorry, Noah.” She glanced down to where she’d folded her hands in her lap. “I should have just told you. It’s not my job to censor what’s going on around you.”
“I get why you did it, darlin’.”
“Still.” She dragged her eyes back to meet his gaze. “It was the wrong call. I just want you to know that I know that, and I didn’t have any intention to abandon you. I treated you like shit during the Kilroy case, and I won’t ever let that happen again.”
Shadows played along his face as he offered her a wistful smile.
When the warmth of his hand settled between her shoulder blades, her breath caught in her throat.
All of a sudden, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this nervous. The touch was welcome—it was more than welcome—but her mind raced with the implications of their closeness.
With a simple touch, he’d sent a jolt of anticipation through her. She was suddenly aware of the warmth of his body beside hers, the mattress beneath them both. Her thoughts had done a complete one-eighty. From worried and sad to nervous and…what? Excited?
Whatever the other feeling was, the nervousness drowned it out like a drunk shouting over his friends at a bar. She’d come face-to-face with serial killers, mass murderers, and she hadn’t felt nervousness like this. Apparently, she was comfortable under professional pressure, but when it came to her love life, she turned into a starry-eyed teenager.
As she licked her lips, she tasted a hint of Southern Comfort. Though she had intended to sit down for a grown-up discussion about her feelings for him, she couldn’t form a coherent thought that involved anything other than stripping off all his clothes.
Well, that was one way to convey affection. I
f he wasn’t into it, then she’d have her answer.
Swallowing the twinge of trepidation, she started to raise a hand to touch him when she realized that her palms were clammy. She couldn’t reach out and touch him with cold, clammy hands. Son of a bitch.
His gaze was fixed on hers, a flicker of curiosity behind his green eyes. If she didn’t do something soon, the nerves would get the better of her. She wanted more than just a few fervent kisses, satisfying though they might have been. But she couldn’t convey the way he made her feel by just making out with him.
This wasn’t her first time, but this was the first time the stakes had been so high. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, this was the first time she’d been invested in the outcome.
Until recently, her life had a singular purpose—find The Preacher and avenge the murder of her family. She hadn’t needed a man at her side to succeed in her goal, and she had been so certain of her solitary purpose that she hadn’t stopped to ponder much beyond the physical aspect of a relationship. She’d been too busy, too focused, too wrapped up in the cold world of vengeance.
Now, she might not have known all the details, but she wanted more.
For the first time that night, she shut all the doubts and the what-ifs out of her head, and she forced her focus back to the dim hotel room. Back to the way the flickering light of the television cast exaggerated shadows along Noah’s handsome face.
As she reached out to touch his scruffy cheek, she scooted over to his side. Even through the fabric of his clothes, his body was warm against her leg.
The curiosity in his eyes gave way to understanding, and within that understanding was a spark of the same desire that coursed through her veins.
The mischievous glint was more than enough to encourage her next move.
Strands of her long hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned in to press her lips to his. As her tongue wrapped around his for the first time, she dropped her hand to rest over his heart. A measure of contentment crept to her mind at the rapid cadence of his pulse.
