by Mandy Baxter
“I made a copy of Ellis’s files.” She spoke as if she’d read his mind. Her voice was a raspy whisper thanks to the grip Meader had on her throat. Galen was going to show him exactly how that felt soon enough. “If you kill me, you’ll never find it.”
Meader pressed the barrel of his gun into Harper’s temple and a tear trailed down her cheek. Her precarious position at the edge of the roof was the only thing keeping Galen from plowing into that son of a bitch. “Where is it?” Meader snarled next to Harper’s ear.
Galen took a step forward and Meader swung the gun around and leveled it at his face. “Take another step, Deputy, and Harper’s going to try her hand at flying.”
Gun still trained on Galen, Meader turned his attention back to Harper. “Where. Is. It.”
He squeezed her throat and between rasping breaths she squeaked, “In the mail. On its way to CNN.” She twisted in his grip and brought her knee up and connected squarely with Meader’s groin. He spun away, releasing Harper as he clutched at his nuts.
Galen focused his attention on Harper. She rubbed her neck and gasped for air. There was no time to take a break. She’d have to catch her breath later. “Harper, take cover!”
Harper stumbled as she ran toward a large air vent, because to be honest, she wasn’t even trying to pay attention to where she was going. The sight of Galen charging toward Jason Meader made her heart catapult up into her throat. The sound of Meader’s gun discharging echoed in her ears as he took a wild shot. Harper held her breath, relief cascading over her as she realized he’d missed his target. On the heels of relief came an undeniable sense of awe at the sheer maleness of Galen as he took Jason down in a football tackle that was so reminiscent of that first night they’d met. Galen Kelly was a freaking god.
They rolled around on the rooftop, a tangle of limbs as Galen threw several punches that connected bodily with Meader, while he fought to keep hold of the gun that had swung too close to Galen’s head for comfort. All it would take was one wild shot and she’d lose him forever.
In the distance, the sound of sirens grew closer, and Harper breathed a sigh of relief through her raw and ragged throat. She didn’t even try to swallow. A simple flick of her tongue was painful at this point. A scream built up in her chest, but it had nowhere to go. She wanted to call for help. To make sure that someone—anyone—knew they were up here. If anything happened to Galen, Meader wouldn’t have to pitch her off the roof. She’d gladly jump because Harper knew she’d never be able to live with the guilt of knowing that her irresponsibility had caused the death of the man she loved.
The man she couldn’t live without.
She’d underestimated Jason. Sized him up as nothing more than an overprivileged snake in the grass with more ambition than actual common sense. God, had she ever been wrong. He fought like he’d been conditioned and trained for it. Deflected Galen’s punches as though he instinctively knew where each one would land. Got his own jabs in at the right moment, using the butt of his gun for leverage. And despite the fact that Jason could have given an MMA champion a run for his money, Galen held his ground and was actually gaining the upper hand.
From the corner of her eye, Harper noticed Galen’s discarded gun. She rushed to where he’d kicked it away and picked it up, the heavy metal weighing down her hand. Was the safety off? Was it loaded? Could she even shoot it if she wanted to? She’d never used a handgun before. What if she screwed something up and managed to blow her own face off ! To hell with it. She could bluff with the best of them. Whether or not she was a sharpshooter didn’t matter.
“Stop!” Her vocal cords were on fire as the word tore from her throat. The two men didn’t even break their stride, rolling and throwing punches as though she hadn’t just shouted. Well, sort of shouted. Fine. She could do better than that. She pointed the gun away from anywhere that a stray bullet might hurt someone, closed her eyes tight, and squeezed the trigger. The report was instant, her arm flew backward with the recoil, and she lost her grip on the gun sending it soaring toward Galen and Jason. Her ears rang and she wondered if maybe she’d blown her eardrums. It didn’t matter. She got the response she wanted.
The gunshot was enough of a distraction to break up the fight. Unfortunately, Jason still had possession of his weapon while Harper had foolishly sent hers flying. Way to save the day, Harp. Her breath stilled in her chest as Jason aimed his gun at Galen’s chest. Time stopped. Her heart quit beating. Oh, God. She hadn’t helped at all. She’d done nothing more than give Jason an opportunity to empty his gun into Galen’s chest.
I killed him.
Jason pulled up to aim his weapon right as Galen rolled away in a maneuver that sent Harper’s head to spinning. He looked like a character out of her favorite superhero movie as he positioned himself to land where Harper had dropped his gun. He scooped the weapon into his fist and fired off a shot without even taking the time to aim.
Like it mattered.
Galen was totally a superhero as far as Harper was concerned. The shot cracked in the silence, and Jason’s right arm went limp. A crimson stain spread over his shoulder and down his arm, blooming over his fancy white dress shirt like a rose under the summer sun. He looked down at the wound, disbelief marring his usually controlled expression. Galen kicked his discarded gun away and shoved him down on his face, not bothering to take care with his wounded shoulder as he produced a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
“You’re under arrest for murder and conspiracy, asshole,” Galen growled. “Oh, and for assaulting a federal officer. You have the right to remain silent . . .”
His voice faded to the back of Harper’s mind as sensation returned to her limbs. She felt as though all the blood were rushing back to her brain in a single tidal wave and she became light-headed, the world tipping on its axis while she tried to hold her footing. The roof seemed to slip out from underneath her and she crumpled to her knees. Her pulse raced in her ears, a baseline to accompany the high-pitched ringing. She’d almost lost him today. Hell, she’d almost lost herself today.
“Harper?”
She looked up from what she assumed was a super attractive position—bent over with her head between her knees—to see Galen standing over her, his brow pinched with concern. His eyes searched hers and he cupped her elbow in his palm as though afraid to make too much contact. “How bad are you hurt? Harper? Talk to me.”
The words came to her as though she was submerged underwater and Galen was on dry land shouting at her, but at least she wasn’t deaf so she was counting it as a win. “I’m fine.” Ugh. She hoped she wasn’t shouting. “I’m just freaked out. Really freaked out.”
His expression transformed from worry to relief in a second flat. He took her in his arms and held her so close that she wasn’t sure where her body ended and his began. She pressed her palms into his chest, taking comfort in the strength of his presence, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Her own personal hero had swooped in to save her butt. Not once, but three times. “I bet you’re tired of getting me out of trouble,” she murmured against his shirt. She inhaled deeply and held his scent in her lungs. She’d never get enough of that spicy, masculine smell.
“Never.” He planted a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her tight. “I can handle whatever you dish out, Harper. Bring it.”
Laughter mingled with tears and she sniffed. “Believe me, I’m going the low-profile route from here on out. No more excitement for a while.”
Galen led her toward the edge of the building, and she stole a glance at Jason, handcuffed to a metal rod near one of the roof vents. The bloody stain had spread down his arm, and his head was slumped, but it looked like he was going to live long enough to face the consequences of his actions. Good. He didn’t deserve the easy way out. Maybe now that everything was out in the open, Ellis could, in death, have the clear conscience he’d wanted.
She peered over the building to see why Galen had brought her over. Below, the street was crowded with police cars, unma
rked government vehicles, two ambulances, and several news vans. The scramble of activity was dizzying and Harper leaned against Galen for support.
“What were you saying about no excitement?” he said with a small laugh.
“Oh man, all of the local news stations are here!” She peered farther over the edge. “Holy crap. CNN is here!” Harper stifled a groan. “And MSNBC, and Fox News.”
The door to the roof burst open, and a wave of federal and local law enforcement spilled out onto the roof. Curt Monroe led the charge, gun drawn and hyperalert. “You’re going back to that hotel,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Harper. “And you”—he jabbed a finger at Galen—“aren’t letting her out of your sight. Do you understand me? I’ll get your statement later tonight.”
Harper exchanged a look with Galen. It would be tough to endure, but they’d get through their time at the hotel somehow. “Yes, sir,” Galen answered.
“We’ll finish up with your suspect and get him into custody. There’s a media circus forming down there all waiting to get a piece of Harper. I think you’d better go.” If she didn’t know better, Harper would have thought Curt was trying to keep them away from Agent Davis, who was fighting the crowd of cops as he made his way toward them. But of course, Curt would never do anything to thwart an FBI agent. She smiled at him and he gave her an exasperated look. “Well, get out of here!”
Harper didn’t need to be told twice. She let Galen lead the way. She’d follow him anywhere.
Gladly.
Harper lay next to Galen, her body entwined with his. One hot shower and a full-body massage—followed by some erotic play—later and Harper was almost at one hundred percent. It was a wonder either of them had the energy for anything more than a sponge bath and a nap after what they’d been through. But Harper was learning very quickly that she’d have to be dead and buried before she ever got enough of Galen Kelly. Maybe not even then. His breath stirred the hairs at her temple and goose bumps sprung up on her skin. “That tickles.”
He nuzzled below her ear, careful not to touch her bruised face. A paramedic had checked them both out when they got back to the hotel. She didn’t need stitches for the cut on her cheek. She’d be sore for a few days, but thankfully nothing was broken.
“I’ll go with you into the interview room tomorrow. I won’t let Davis bully you again.”
She wasn’t exactly looking forward to another round with the arrogant FBI agent, but she wouldn’t get Galen involved in it, either. “It’s okay. Remember the attorney I spoke with a few days ago? She’s going to go with me. Agent Davis won’t get too lippy with a lawsuit hanging over his head.”
“Either way, I’m here for you.”
“I know you are,” Harper replied through a yawn. “And I’m glad. Thank you.” She wiggled in closer until her back was flush with the hard planes of his chest. The heat of his body was a soothing balm. One that Harper craved like a drug. He reached around and cupped her breast in his palm, his thumb feathering over her nipple, and Harper sucked in a sharp breath.
“I love you, Harper,” he whispered in her ear. “I think I loved you from the second I laid eyes on you.”
She reached around and cupped the back of his thigh as his hand left her breast and wandered down her body to the juncture between her legs. Her throat was still raw, but it didn’t stop the low moan that escaped when he stroked her slick center. “I love you too,” she said. “I love you more than I ever thought I could.”
He rolled her over on her back and settled himself between her thighs. Their eyes met and the emotion that passed between them didn’t need words to be expressed. He was her friend, her lover, her hero. Everything she ever wanted and more.
“Je t’aime.” The words slipped from Galen’s lips as he entered her and Harper cried out, arching into him.
“What does that mean?” she breathed.
“It sounds better in French.” He pulled out and thrust slowly in again. Teasing her, the way she liked.
“Tell me.”
“It means, I love you.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist as he thrust deep inside of her. Tomorrow they’d have to face reality once again. But tonight it was just her and him, and she wasn’t about to waste a single second.
“It is pretty in French.” She ground her hips against him. “But if you learn to say it in Klingon, that’ll really be something.”
He laughed before his mouth claimed hers in a hungry kiss. “I’ll get on that first thing in the morning,” he said as he pulled away.
“Or better yet,” Harper teased, “Elvish. Like Tolkien.”
“Harper,” Galen murmured against her throat. “Be quiet.”
She used her ankles to pull him deep inside of her. “I’m a reporter. It’s in my nature to be wordy.”
He rolled her on top of him and bucked his hips to thrust deeper. God, he was too good for words. “Did I ever tell you I have a thing for journalism majors?”
“I do recall something about that. But tell me again. And be thorough.”
He rose up and flicked his tongue across her nipple. “Oh, if there’s one thing I am,” he murmured against her skin, “it’s thorough.”
Oh, man, did she ever love his attention to detail.
Keep reading for
an excerpt from the next book in
the U.S. Marshals series,
ONE KISS MORE,
coming in Winter, 2015
from
Mandy Baxter
and
Kensington Books!
Landon could think of a thousand things he’d rather be doing right now. Skydiving, BASE jumping, climbing to the top of Mount Hood would be nice. When did the running of the bulls begin, anyway? Law enforcement was supposed to be an exciting, adrenaline-infused career. Maybe he should have applied for the SOG program when he’d had a chance. Of course, knowing his luck, he’d get an assignment like his friend Galen had snagged: babysitter to some foreign dignitary for a year. Prestigious? Maybe. But Landon wasn’t interested in recognition or prestige. He was in it for the action. Which was why, as he pulled up to the swanky Aspira building in downtown Seattle, he wished he was jumping out of a plane, thousands of feet from the ground. He hadn’t felt an exhilarating rush of any kind for a long goddamned time. And just like any addict, he was itching for a fix.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. After a few rings, Galen answered and the fucker had the nerve to sound upbeat. “Hey, man. Did you see me on Piers Morgan last night?”
Galen had recently come off a case that had landed him not only in the media spotlight, but in bed with the woman he’d been assigned to protect. Lucky bastard. “Yeah. And you know what? It’s true what they say about the camera adding ten pounds. You might want to think about hitting the gym.”
“Jealous much?”
“Please,” Landon scoffed. “I’ve got nothing to be jealous about. You go ahead and be the poster boy for the Marshals Service while the rest of us go out and get shit done.”
Galen’s laughter rumbled through the receiver. Playful hostility was what Landon appreciated most about their friendship. Galen deserved his accolades, though. He was damn good at his job. “Have you questioned Ruiz’s daughter yet?”
The consummate professional, Galen would forgo the banter for work talk any day of the week and as always, Landon was on the same page. “On my way up to her condo now,” he said as he flashed his badge to the parking attendant at the underground garage. He pulled the phone away from his ear long enough to get directions to the public parking and pulled through the levered gate. “I doubt she’s going to be cooperative, though.”
“Who’s your contact there?”
Technically, the Ruiz case was in the Portland division’s jurisdiction, but since Ruiz’s daughter lived in Seattle, the investigation had become an inter-regional effort. “Ethan Morgan,” Landon replied as he hit the key fob with his thumb and locked his black Chevy Tahoe. He pivoted
on a heel as he searched out the elevators and found a bank of silver doors on the far left wall. “I’m meeting him at the office later, but I thought I’d get a jump on Emma first.”
Galen was silent for a moment and Landon could almost picture the shit-eating grin on his face. “Get a jump on her, huh?”
“Unlike you, I’m a professional,” Landon remarked, as he stepped inside the elevator and hit the button for the fifteenth floor.
“Touché,” Galen replied.
“Dude, the French,” Landon said with a snort. “So not manly. Later.”
Galen’s answering laughter was the last thing Landon heard as he ended the call. For the past few days, he’d been staking out Emma Ruiz’s building and tracking her every move in the hopes that she’d lead them to her father. But the only thing he’d learned so far in his time on this assignment was that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Emma was still a hardcore party girl. She still hung out with pro athletes and rich playboys and lived her life as publicly as she dared, as though she invited the media attention and gossipmongers while simultaneously not giving a shit about any of it.
The Ruiz case had been high profile six years ago when they’d conducted their investigation into the federal judge’s dealings with Mendleson Corp. Once one of the country’s shrewdest and most successful attorneys, Ruiz, the consummate legal hero who defended the little guy, had landed a federal judgeship in Oregon after retiring from a firm that dealt primarily in environmental safety and wrongful death suits. His judgeship had taken a nosedive when his dealings with Mendleson had been scrutinized. The U.S. Marshals had gotten involved after he’d dismissed what should have been an open-and-shut FTC trade violation case against the multinational corporation. Through an anonymous tip, the feds had been alerted that Ruiz was extorting money from Mendleson, and the CEO had admitted to paying the judge in exchange for a favorable ruling in their case.
