by Norris, Kris
“Feeling disjointed. That wasn’t your typical arrest. At least, I hope to hell it wasn’t. That…” He shook his head. “That was a battle. Facing off against ten men on your own—”
“I wasn’t alone. You were there.”
“But you didn’t know I’d arrived until you’d already confronted them. Drawn your weapon. Made peace with the fact you couldn’t take them all out before they started shooting back. Watching you…” He focused on her. “I’ve never been so damn proud and scared in my life.”
Jericho tilted her head, staring into those copper eyes. Had he really been scared? “Do you ever get used to it?”
“Being shot at?”
“Killing people. I know it was justified. That I gave them a chance to walk out, but…”
Crap. Her voice just faded. The words stuck on a huge lump in her throat.
“Fuck.” Cannon swerved over to the curb, shoving his truck in park before unclipping their seatbelts then turning to fully face her.
She blinked a few times. “Cannon?”
He slid closer, his large body taking up most of the space. The air. “There are two ways a person can go. They can either wear their heart a bit too close to the surface. Have it bleed a little every time they have to make a tough choice. Work through a few night’s worth of bad dreams and guilt before finally accepting that they did everything they could to alter the outcome. That, in the end, they did what needed to happen to save lives. Uphold justice.”
She sat there, staring at him, mesmerized by the lines on his face. The look in his eyes. “Or?”
He swallowed. “Or, you become someone who’s stone cold. Who was so busy shoving the bad shit down, they didn’t realize it meant they couldn’t feel the good. That happiness and love was the price they’d pay for not experiencing the pain. The guilt. That, somewhere along the way, they became the monster they were hunting.” He lifted one hand—thumbed her chin. “Don’t become the second. Don’t shove it all down. Scream. Cry. Go a few rounds in the ring. Blow it off at the shooting range. Hell, talk it out with someone who’s in the business. It doesn’t matter what it takes, but allow yourself to feel. To express those feelings. Or you’ll wake up one day and realize you haven’t felt anything in a long time. And you’ll wonder if you ever can, again.”
She reached for him when he went to turn, waiting until his gaze was back on her. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, only that she needed to say something. Anything to ease the shadows around his eyes. The firm line of his mouth.
She placed one hand on his cheek. “I want to go on a real date. Not just coffee or texting. I want to go out to dinner with you. I want to stare at you across the table. Smile. Flirt. Then, I want you to drive me home, ask to come inside for a nightcap. I’ll play it cool, at first. Pretend like I’m not dying for you to kiss me. Take me to bed. But, once the door closes—once we’re alone…”
He moved. Slid one hand up her back, into her hair. Tangling it around his fingers as he snaked his other hand around her waist—pulling her flush against him. He lowered his head, hovering his mouth an inch away from hers. Their breath mixing. Then, he was kissing her. Lips molding to hers. Lifting, repositioning, then claiming, again. His tongue delving inside when she moaned. All heat and spice and sinful pleasure. He didn’t let up, tugging her even closer once they’d paused to catch their breath.
Her chest flattened against his, the hard ridge in his jeans pressing against her hip. She shifted, lifting into him when he cupped her ass, grinding his erection against her cleft. Sparks shot through her groin, coiling low. A few more seconds, and she might come.
Harsh breathing filled the cab. Hers. His. She wasn’t sure how long he ate at her mouth before he seemed willing to pull back—lift his lips from hers.
She stared up at him. Breathless. More aroused than she’d ever been. But it wasn’t just the by-product of adrenaline. Of nearly dying. It was him. His honor. His strength. She’d spent her life trying to live up to her father’s ghost. The expectation that came from his sacrifice. But Cannon didn’t care about that. He was offering her more than comfort. He was offering her a chance to be defined by something other than her badge.
She closed her eyes as his forehead fell to hers. “Is that a yes to going out to dinner?”
He laughed. The rich sound easing the tight feeling beneath her skin. The one she hadn’t realized was there.
Another soft kiss. “How about we get this meeting over at your office. Then, I’ll take you home. Spend the next several hours just holding you. Keeping you safe while you sleep. After that, I’ll go out. Get us each some coffee. Some of those maple bagels you insist on sharing. And I’ll feed you in bed before spending the rest of the day pounding you into it.”
She inhaled as heat poured through her body. He was going to get her off with nothing more than his voice. His promise. “I like the way you negotiate. You have a deal—”
A loud knock wrapped on the window. Cannon had a gun in his hand, her shoved back in the seat behind one muscled forearm before she could blink twice. Not that she knew where he’d been hiding the gun. He cursed, rolling the window down.
Dave leaned in a bit. “Are you going to drive to the office or do you two need to get a room, first? It’s fucking cold and late. Let’s get this done.”
He turned and walked back toward his truck—the one she now noticed in the rearview.
Cannon snorted. “Not to sound like an asshole, but your partner’s a dick.”
Jericho sighed, clipping her seatbelt in place. “He’s an acquired taste. But, he’s had my back for years.”
“Until recently. Tonight wasn’t the first time he’s ditched you. I know you’ve been covering for him, but it’s getting out of hand, sweetheart.”
“Tonight was different. We weren’t there on a stakeout. We were meeting for drinks. Maybe a plate of nachos. He wanted to talk about all the shit that’s been happening. Said he wanted to make it right.”
“So, where the fuck was he?”
“He texted me and said his wife showed up. Asked me to wait. I imagine they were busy trying to patch things up. I honestly don’t know but…he did show up. That’s something.”
“Timing matters. Arriving after you would have been killed doesn’t mean squat.” He waved a hand in the air. “I know. Not the time or the place. Let’s just get this done.” He glanced over at her and winked. “I’ve got big plans.”
Jericho nodded, relaxing back in the seat. Butterflies rioted inside her stomach, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t connected to the shooting, but the man sitting beside her. Who’d just severed all rational thought with that kiss.
She brushed her fingertips over her lips. Looked as if this night was finally getting better. All she had to do was wait for her uncle to do his thing, and Cannon would be set. Not to mention her official backup plan.
Chapter Seven
Cannon sat in the chair, hands clasped together, feet braced apart as he rested his elbows on his knees. He’d been waiting almost three hours inside the small room, watching events unfold beyond the glass door and large window. They hadn’t handcuffed him—one positive in what could be a shit ton of negative.
It still amazed him how his life had changed. How he’d gone from unit leader—in charge of not only keeping his men safe, but ensuring no targets got past him—to just another cog in the proverbial wheel. Sure, he had the appropriate permits. Was licensed to carry, to conceal. Had his Bail Bond Recovery Agent’s license. Had met with local law enforcement. Discussed as much of his background as he could without violating national security. But he wasn’t an officer. Or agent or anything else that would brush this incident nicely under the mat.
He had connections. He wasn’t all that worried. But, he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to cash in on all of them within the first few months of going civilian. Not that he regretted it. Anything for Jericho.
That was his new motto. Should probably just get it tattooed somewhere because
after the kiss in his truck… Yeah, he wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. In fact, he was starting to think in very long-term plans. The kind that had them sharing living space. A shiny ring on her finger. A little girl that looked just like her.
Not now. Or next week. But… It was inside his head. Taking up valuable hard disk space. Showing him images of how their life together could play out. If he played his cards right. Didn’t spook her.
He hadn’t even thought twice when he’d called himself her boyfriend. He’d noted her surprise. But what had registered more was the accompanying hint of blush. The way her breathing had kicked up. Or how her pupils had dilated. She’d liked hearing it.
Then, her jackass partner had shown up. Killed the moment. And Cannon had pretty much been stuck in this chair ever since. Systematically working through what he’d do if they did decide to press charges.
He’d start with a call to Sam Montgomery, aka Midnight. Sam was an ex-Army Ranger. They’d trained and served together before Cannon had shifted over to Delta. Had done a few joint missions after, too. He was one of the men Ice worked with. But, more importantly, Midnight’s fiancée was Bridgette Hayward. A former Assistant U.S. Attorney and a current badass lawyer. Cannon doubted it would take more than a single call to them to straighten everything out.
Of course, it meant he’d owe Midnight. But, Cannon could live with that. Would gladly help the guy out, red ink or not, when or if the man ever asked. Hell, even if he didn’t. He was a brother. And Cannon took that seriously.
“Sloan.”
He glanced up. It was Jericho’s partner. Faraday. The man on the top of Cannon’s watch list, quickly becoming a threat he hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with. Though, the guy seemed clean—Cannon hadn’t been able to dig up anything on him, despite calling in a couple favors—there was still something about him that grated on Cannon’s nerves. And if he kept hanging Jericho out to dry…
Dave motioned to his right. “Art would like to see you in his office.” He held the door open, clasping Cannon’s arm when he went to walk past.
Cannon glanced at the other man’s hand then up to his face. “Problem?”
Dave focused on his hand then huffed, lifting it to stab through his hair. “Look. I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to ditch Jericho that night at the bar. It’s just…”
He leaned against the door. “I’ve been going through some shit. Not that it’s an excuse. It isn’t. And I know I’ve let her down. I just wanted you to know that, if I’d had any idea she was in trouble, I would have risked messing up my marriage, tonight, to get there sooner. And I’m glad you had her back when I couldn’t.”
Shit. The jerk was trying to make amends. Cannon hated having to push his concerns aside. Tamp down the voices in his head that were still chattering away. Yelling at him that Dave Faraday was a threat to Jericho’s well-being. But, if Cannon wanted a future with her—and he fucking wanted a future with her—he needed to play nice with her co-workers. And since she teamed up with Dave Faraday the majority of the time—were the equivalent of partners…
Cannon nodded. “She has a lot of faith in you. It’d be nice if that wasn’t misplaced. And since everything turned out okay…”
That had been about as nice as Cannon could manage with his senses still on high alert. The takedown still replaying inside his head. Not to mention the hint of blood seeping through Jericho’s bandage—the one he’d been staring at for hours.
He motioned toward the large glassed office at the far end of the room. “I assume that’s the Supervisory Deputy’s office?”
“You can go right in. Guess Jericho really does have feelings for you. Never thought she’d call Jack, but…”
Jack? Hadn’t Cannon heard her say Uncle Jack just before she’d gotten out of range in the restaurant? Not that he knew who her uncle was. The only thing she’d said about her family was that her father had died overseas while serving. And she was an only child.
Cannon headed for the room, smiling at Jericho when she looked over at him. She was surrounded by three other men. One had to be a lawyer. The other two… Could be internal affairs, or feds. Maybe counselors. But she didn’t seem anxious, so he kept walking, knocking on the glass door before cracking it open.
“Supervisory Deputy Collins.”
The man waved him in, offering Cannon a chair. “First off, we can continue with Supervisory Deputy and Mr. Sloan, or we can cut through the bullshit and just leave it at Art and Cannon. Your choice.”
Cannon smiled. He liked Art. “I understand you wanted to see me, Art.”
Art leaned his ass against his desk. “Well, you did leave upwards of eight bodies behind. Thought that might warrant a chat.”
“Jericho called. She was in trouble.”
“Yes. Deputy Marshal Nash has explained, at length, how and why you became involved.”
“I eliminated the threat. It’s that simple.”
“Except for the part where this isn’t Afghanistan or Syria, and you’re not in Delta Force, anymore.”
“No, it’s not, because over there, we played as a team. Soldiers didn’t leave their brothers to face threats on their own.”
Art cocked his head to his side, hands lifting to shoulder level. “Stand down, Master Sergeant. Damn, you Spec Op guys are touchy. Jackson’s the same way. Constantly breaking ranks to protect his team. I’m just not sure if that makes you exemplary men or dangerous ones.”
“Both, I hope.” Cannon raked his hand through his hair. “For the record, that wasn’t exactly what I’d had planned for this evening.”
“No, I assume you were hoping to meet up with Jericho. Share some more coffee.”
Cannon studied the guy, but Art’s expression was fixed. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“No. Just making sure I understand the dynamic between you two.”
“Not sure our dynamic is really anyone else’s concern.”
“Normally, I’d agree. But when it directly impacts this office—my job—I make an exception.” He reached behind him and grabbed a piece of paper, handing it over to Cannon. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re part of it, now. My office, that is.”
He read the sheet, an odd tumbling feeling building in his gut. He looked up at Art. “This is authorization for me to be a Special Deputy U.S. Marshal.”
“That it is. Valid for three years, though, I assume as long as there is a dynamic between you and Jericho, and she’s part of this office, it’ll be renewed. You’ll notice it came from the Director, himself, in Arlington. And that it’s dated as of midnight yesterday. Which means your little OK Corral shootout tonight was covered by it.”
“But…” He glanced out the door, studied Jericho, then focused on Art. “I didn’t call in any favors. Not, yet.”
“I didn’t assume you would until you had more of an idea how this was going to play out. Though, if you had, I’m betting you would have started a little lower on the food chain.”
He nodded. “You think Jericho called someone.”
“Oh, I know she did, son. Her Uncle Jack, to be precise.”
“That’s the third time I’ve heard that name. Who’s Uncle Jack?”
“You’d know him as Admiral Jonathan Hastings. He goes by Jack to his family and close friends. Betting you’ll have to get used to calling him that, too, soon.”
Cannon held up his hand. “Just…wait. Admiral Hastings is her uncle? She never mentioned that, nor did he when I met with him a month ago. I thought they knew each other because her dad had served with him.”
“Jericho prefers to keep their relationship on the down low. She doesn’t want people thinking she uses that connection to get preferential treatment. That’s why she uses her mother’s maiden name. In fact, she goes so far in the other direction that Jack has to hide any involvement he has in her professional life. If he wants to give her a recommendation or letter of reference. In the thirteen years she’s been involved
in law enforcement, she’s never once asked him for anything.”
“Then, why—”
“Because she cares about you. More than she might be willing to admit. It might also have had something to do with the fact you just saved her life. All without any concern to your own. Guess you can take the man out of the Army, but…”
Cannon scoffed. “What good is having all of this training—this skill set—if I can’t help out the people I care about? The woman I lo—”
Fuck, he’d almost said it. Almost said he loved her. Which was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Sure, he’d been getting to know her over the past month. Was enthralled by everything he’d learned. And he’d been damn near frantic at the thought of losing her, but… Was that love? He hadn’t had a horrible childhood, but not a great one, either. His mother had loved him. He knew that. Had made a lot of sacrifices to see he had food, clothes. But, after fifteen years in the service, ten with Delta… He wasn’t sure he really knew what love was.
Though, he had to admit the idea didn’t bother him half as much as he’d have imagined it would. He’d already been considering something beyond tomorrow or next week. Wasn’t too hard to believe that those thoughts stemmed from a deeper emotion. One that was suddenly bubbling up inside him. Boiling over.
He stood, pacing over to the wall then spinning. “I didn’t ask her to call.”
“Like I said, if you’d been involved, you would have started lower down than an Admiral. Not that it matters. If the Director of the U.S. Marshal Service wants to make you a Special Deputy Marshal, I’m not going to question it. I suggest you carry that around with you until I can get your ID made. Your badge. Shouldn’t take more than a few days. Week tops.”
“So, I’m in. Just like that?”
“There are limitations. Basically, you’ll need to be asked, but yeah…you’re in. Just like that. You are familiar with Wyatt Earp, aren’t you? What being a deputy means?”
“That’s not funny. And you’re not forming a posse.”
“No, we’re not. But, yeah, it is. A bit. Anyway, ballistics will test your gun for a positive match. Though, I doubt it’s a secret which ones were your handiwork. Single taps to the head. Knife wounds. That was very impressive.”
