by Freya Barker
“Neither,” he calmly states. “But if not Agent Gomez, be assured I would send someone else home with you to make sure your house is secure. I would’ve said the same to anyone else, man or woman.” With that he rises tall, leaving me to feel effectively small and put in my place. “Agent Gomez will text me the address, and I’ll have one of my officers drop off your car. I’ll be in touch tomorrow,” he says before correcting himself after a glance at his watch. “I mean later today.”
I just nod. There’s so much more to worry about, so much to sort out, I don’t want to waste any more time. So when Damian stands up and holds out his hand, I quietly take it and let him lead me through the store and out to his SUV, mouthing thanks to the detective when we pass him.
“Where to?” Damian asks, as he buckles himself in after making sure I’ve done the same. I direct him west on US-160 and up County Road 206. Passing some of the more affluent houses up this way, I tell him to turn left onto my driveway. My little house is only a hundred yards or so back from the main road, surrounded by trees. I can’t see my neighbors from here, but I know they’re within walking distance. One of the reasons I finally decided on this rental; I like being away from the hustle of town, while still having the security of people close by.
By the time Damian pulls up in front of the small porch, I’ve already unbuckled and have my hand on the door. “Thanks for dropping me off,” I mumble, still a bit embarrassed over the breakdown he witnessed, and get out of the truck without waiting for a response. I should’ve known he wasn’t going to leave it at that and am not surprised to hear his truck door slam and footsteps following me up the steps.
“Hold on,” he says behind me when I fit my key in the lock, his arm coming around me and his hand covering mine. “Let me check first.” With sure movements, he sets me aside and pushes through the door first. “Wait here,” he says over his shoulder, as he unclips a gun from the small of his back and enters my home.
I stay put as I’m told, wondering why his protective behavior has my heart pounding. I’m not a pushover, I have a loaded shotgun beside my bed and insist on locking my doors. Still, his take-charge attitude makes me feel oddly comforted. The break-in must’ve rattled me more than I thought.
“All clear,” Damian calls from inside. It didn’t take him long with only an open concept living room and kitchen, plus one bedroom, a bathroom, and a small mudroom slash laundry room in the back. I step inside and close the door behind me. Damian’s turned on a few lights, and I watch him put his gun down on the counter in the kitchen. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t this big, bulky agent opening my fridge door and ducking in. “Thank God,” I hear him say when he straightens up, a beer in his hand. “You want one?” He waves the bottle in my direction. I don’t know whether to laugh or get pissed. Instead I just nod, walk over to the comfy sectional couch and plop down, tucking my feet underneath me.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, handing me a bottle, which I immediately put to my lips. The taste of the cold beer perks me right up.
“God, that’s good,” I sigh, holding the cold bottle against my cheek. Damian is still standing over me, amusement on his face but with heat in his eyes. Yikes. “This is good for now,” I tell him, watching as he sits down beside me and unceremoniously props his feet on my coffee table.
My eyes are drawn to his throat when he takes a deep swallow from his beer and then lays his head back on the couch, his eyes closed.
“Tired?”
“Mmmm,” he mumbles, turning his head in my direction while slowly opening his eyes on me. “Long night.”
DAMIAN
I could fall asleep right here on her couch, but I have a feeling there won’t be much sleep for me. A quick glance at my watch tells me the sun will be up shortly.
“I have to call the insurance company,” Kerry says, digging through her purse. I reach out to stop her movements.
“Gypsy—Grab some sleep. It’ll wait for office hours.” She pulls her hand from under mine, and I watch as she restlessly picks at the label on the bottle while looking at me from under her eyelashes. I’ve done my best to ignore the fact she’s still just wearing a sleep shirt so thin, it barely conceals her breasts. Especially when, like right now, her nipples poke out to play.
I don’t know if it’s my lack of sleep and therefore judgment, to stop her from fidgeting, or whether it’s those hard little nubs taunting me, but any restraint I may have had flies out the window. I take her bottle and put it on the table with mine before grabbing her under her arms and pulling her on my lap, her mouth falling open in shock. I don’t hesitate and make use of the opportunity, taking her mouth with a hungry growl. Fuck yes—the beer left her tongue cool against mine, and the taste of hops and Kerry is a potent combination. Her body goes solid on my lap, but a few deep strokes with my tongue along hers draws out a tiny whimper. Like hitting an ignition button, she comes alive and burrows her fingers in my hair, while her other hand clings to my shoulder. Her ass wiggles in my lap, and if I hadn’t been hard as a rock already, this would’ve surely done the trick. Christ, she feels good. Hungry and fierce as she kisses me back and my hand, perched on her hip, slides up her ribs to cup her breast through her threadbare shirt. A nice handful. My thumb flicks her taut nipple, and the woman in my arms groans deeply, a sound that travels down my body.
With a twist of my torso, I take her down on her back, my body covering hers. My eyes open and I’m looking right into her shiny gray ones. The emotions I see reflected there bring me to a grinding halt. Confusion, heat, insecurity, need—they’re all visible behind the veil of her lashes and work like a cold shower.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, pushing myself up right away. I need to get my head on straight. This woman spells danger, tempting me to break the strict rules I’ve abided by most of my adult life. From the corner of my eye, I see her scrambling to sit up and pull down that ridiculous shirt with doggie prints. She doesn’t even have a dog, although that might not be such a bad idea, up here on the mountain.
“This was a mistake,” she says heatedly, but not quite able to hide the hurt in her voice. “We’ll blame it on the beer.” With her chin tilted up, she gets up from the couch, picks up the bottles from the table, and walks to the kitchen where she empties them in the sink. “You can let yourself out,” she says, setting the empties on the counter before making her way to the bedroom door, not once looking back to me.
Probably best since she would surely have seen regret advertised all over my face.
CHAPTER 5
Kerry
My hand reaches over to shut off my annoying alarm. I’ve hit the snooze button three times already, not ready for this day to start, but I can’t keep avoiding the inevitable. I peel one gritty eye open to find it’s already past eight. Well past time to face the music; the first order is to call Marya and tell her not to come in. She’s understandably upset about the break-in and offers to help clean up. I thank her and tell her I’ll call as soon as I have an update from the police.
Next is my insurance company, but I don’t have the number saved, which means I have to get up to find it, dammit. Between the cracks of my curtains, I can see the sun is already bright today. Going to be a hot one. I take care of business in the bathroom, but instead of taking a shower first thing, I saunter into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The sight of two beer bottles sitting beside the sink stops me in my tracks. The only alcohol I have in the house is beer and a bottle of wine, and I only drink when I have company. Living with not only an alcoholic father, but a husband who knew how to hit the bottle as well, cured me from any excess drinking. So unfortunately, I couldn’t blame what happened on the booze. Whether on purpose or unconsciously, I’d not thought once about what happened on the couch last night. Not until now.
Damian’s mouth and hands on me had set me aflame, and any resolve I may have had to avoid any entanglements were instantly vaporized. It’d been so long since I’d been that turned on. H
is mouth was gentle but commanding nonetheless, and his rough, calloused hands on my skin felt so very good. Even now, thinking about it, my traitorous body responds. But then he whispered that damned apology, and everything that was lit up inside dulled instantly. I managed to keep my composure until I made it to my bed, where I buried my face in a pillow and cried out my hurt at being rejected, my anger at myself for letting it get out of hand, and my physical frustration. I’d fallen asleep without even taking off my sweats or getting under the covers. No wonder my eyes feel like they’re full of sand.
I grab the bottles from the counter and drop them in the crate of empties in the mudroom before making quick work of my coffee. I like brewing my own, using freshly ground beans I store in the freezer and a heaping teaspoon of cinnamon—a trick my mother taught me. It makes the coffee taste richer. Fuller.
By the time the pot is brewed, I have found my insurance policy and a telephone number. Thank God I had the foresight to keep a copy at my house, as well. I wish I’d had such foresight with everything else on my computer, but that’s a worry for later. First things first.
I grab the phone from my purse and notice a text.
Damian: We’ve got to talk.
Right. Like that’ll happen.
I may have made a mistake letting the guy get close early this morning, but I sure as hell am not going to volunteer to be humiliated again. I resolutely ignore the text but before I can dial my insurance agent, there’s a knock at my door. No one’s ever come to my door, except one of my neighbors when I first moved in. A bit cautious, I first peek through the window to see my car and a Durango PD patrol car sitting in my drive. I hadn’t even heard them come up.
Opening the door a crack, I find the detective from last night standing on the small porch. “Morning,” he says, his eyes scanning me top to toe. I’m suddenly painfully aware I’m wearing the same clothes he saw me in last night, except this time the bird’s nest on my head is even more tangled. Lovely. I inconspicuously try to wipe the corners of my mouth, in case I have drool caked to my face, but I’m sure he notices. The man is imposing. Not quite as bulky as Damian but a little taller and just as dark and dangerous, however, the detective seems to be less broody. Too late for me to dart into the bedroom to make myself presentable, I square my shoulders and open the door all the way.
“Morning, Detective,” I respond, waving him in. “I see you brought my car back. Thanks for that.” He throws a look over his shoulder before turning back to me.
“No worries. Officer James did the driving, I just followed behind,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Is this a good time to ask you a few questions?”
“Sure. Please invite the officer in, as well, and help yourself to some coffee. I just need one minute.” I point in the direction of the kitchen before I disappear into the bedroom to put some decent clothes on. I’m feeling a little uneasy with my girls on display once again. Funny enough, that didn’t seem to bother me with Damian. I quickly whip off my nightshirt and sweats and put on some underwear, yoga pants and my favorite tunic. Horrified, I yank a brush through my tangled mane and splash some water on my face. A far cry from presentable but it’ll have to do.
“Good,” I tell him when I find the detective sitting at the counter with a mug in his hands. Alone. “You found everything, but where is your colleague?”
“In the patrol car. Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”
I quickly top up my own coffee before pulling a stool around to my side. “Do you have any news before you ask your questions, Detective?” I ask him when I sit down.
“Keith,” he says. “The name is Keith Blackfoot. Not Detective.” His tone is firm, in contrast with the broad smile on his face. If I’m not mistaken, the man is flirting with me. Normally I’d be flattered, but for some reason it feels wrong.
“Very well...Keith, can you tell me anything more?”
“We’re keeping the store off-limits while the team is still working on collecting evidence. They should be done sometime this morning, and then I’d be grateful if you could get me a detailed list of missing items. For now, as far as we can tell, the only items gone are the ones you kept under lock and key and your computer, but there could be things we miss. My guess is the burglar hit your office first, hauled out the computer and got spooked when he came back for more and spotted the red light blinking on the motion detector. He smashed the glass display and took off with the special editions.”
“He must know something about books then if he took those,” I volunteer, but Keith shakes his head.
“Not necessarily. The fact these were the only books behind lock and key, anyone with an ounce of common sense would guess that’s where you keep the valuable ones. We managed to lift some fingerprints from the broken glass, and they’re being looked at as we speak but not everything has been dusted yet. We’ll need yours and those of any employees or anyone else who might have touched the display so we can rule them out.”
“Do you need me to come into the station?” I want to know. “I have one part-time employee, Marya Berger. I’ll see if she can come in with me.”
“That would be helpful. The sooner the better,” he says. “Perhaps between the two of you, we can come up with a list of other people whose fingerprints we’ll need to check. The other thing I will need is a list of the books that were taken from the display case. Do you think that’s possible on such short notice?” The detective is very kind, but serious and professional. A bit different from the way this conversation started. This I can handle.
I offer to give Marya a call right away to see if she’s available this afternoon. Unfortunately, she has to take her youngest to a dentist appointment, so with Keith’s agreement, we make it for tomorrow morning at nine. That gives Marya time to drop her kids off at school, and it gives me a chance to get that list of books together.
I purposely don’t offer a refill on his coffee, and he seems to get the hint when he gets up shortly after. At the door, he stops and turns back to me with a card in his hand. “Anything you need, any questions you have, give me a call. Day or night,” he adds with a wink. Cocky bastard. I bet you he charms women out of their clothes like that all the time. Not for me.
“For sure,” I nevertheless tell him as he pulls open the door, revealing the hulking figure of Damian Gomez with a dark scowl on his face.
DAMIAN
I hated leaving like that this morning. Her obvious hurt had stuck in my throat all the way back to the office, where I went after she’d stomped off to her bedroom. I hadn’t even bothered trying to sleep and instead had made a pot of coffee and grabbed a quick shower in the locker room, which barely made a dent in the bone-deep fatigue. Still, with a clean set of clothes and a few cups of coffee, I’d at least started feeling human again.
In an effort to get the look on Kerry’s face out of my head, I checked email to see if there were any developments for the conference call scheduled for eight thirty this morning. Luna had sent a copy of the report on her meeting with Willoughs and attached a note that simply said: Thanks, he’s yours next time. That gets a chuckle out of me—burly Bruce Willoughs facing off with Luna. Sure, he got the surprise of his life when he thought the little woman would be easy pickings. She may be short, but she doesn’t pull any punches. I should know, I made the mistake of taking her onto the mat when she was first assigned to my office to gauge her abilities. Small, but fast and damn lethal. It had taken her all of five minutes to have me flat on my back.
It appears Willoughs had little information other than that he’s dealt with The Gilded Feather before, both privately and through brokers. He also readily volunteered that he’d had dealings with just about every book dealer in the Four Corners area. Luna passed on a tour of his collections, making a note in the report that the offer sounded too much like an invitation to see his etchings. She did note an impression at the bottom of the report, that Willoughs seemed too slick, his responses a little too practiced and clean. I trust
Luna’s gut. Despite her sometimes slightly awkward social interactions, she’s proven to have a keen insight. I’ll check in with Bruce Willoughs myself sometime soon.
I’m about to call in to the conference line when Jasper sticks his head around the corner. “Morning, boss. Change in plans. Blackfoot just called in, conference call is rescheduled for the same time tomorrow morning. Ella has some information she wants to confirm beforehand. And Blackfoot said to tell you he’s about to interview a witness this morning?” There’s no love lost between the detective—or operations commander, his official title—and Jasper Greene. Jasper’s a straight shooter and doesn’t enjoy Blackfoot’s sick brand of humor. I do, which is why I’m up and out of my seat like a flash. Keith is off to see Kerry, I know he is. I saw the interest in his eyes when he got his first glimpse. I thought I’d done enough to warn him off, but apparently he enjoys dicking with me, because he’s on his way there now. And he wants me to know. Cocksucker.
HIS RIDE AND KERRY’S piece of shit Subaru are parked outside her little house, and I’m surprised to see an officer sitting in the patrol car. He’s in there alone with her and wanted me to know. The door opens just as I step up on the small porch. That douchebag is stepping out of the doorway, a satisfied smirk on his face, with Kerry right behind him, confusion on hers. At least she was dressed and not still wearing that nightshirt that hid nothing.
“What brings you here?” Keith says, feigning surprise. I hear the challenge, though. Ignoring Kerry’s sharp intake of breath, I step right into his space. I need him to know he’s pushing my buttons.
