Once Burned (Task Force Eagle)

by Vaughan, Susan

  Jake didn’t want to hurt her but what future could they have? Their pasts had changed them. Failing Gail and Soriano had warped him, creating a shell like hers. What did he have to give?

  He looked down to see his hand caressing her bare knee.

  She turned toward him, flattened a palm on his chest. The pillow shield was on the floor. She scraped a nail down his shirt front. That her nails were short and unpolished made the gesture no less arousing. “Why don’t you just kiss me?”

  So he did just that.

  He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth with all the hunger that had been building for days. She tasted sweet and hot and he craved her beyond reason.

  She wrapped her arms around him and opened to him like a flower, making no protest as he dragged her onto his lap. Lust shot through him, pulsing through his veins. He burned for her. She answered his desire with all the passion she’d channeled into protecting herself.

  Then the taste and feel of her in his arms unlocked a mystery he’d puzzled over since that aborted kiss in her kitchen, a mystery he’d kept to himself for years. “Lani, there’s something I have to know.”

  She opened her eyes, fogged over with desire. She withdrew her arms from around his neck and looked at him, sharpening her focus and her tongue. “What? You backing out? Afraid I have more scars?”

  When she tried to scoot off his lap, he held her in place and kissed her nose. “Honey, I have plenty of scars. Scars don’t scare me.”

  “What then?”

  “Earlier that summer, I grabbed Gail in the dark barn one evening and kissed her. She answered me with more passion than I ever got from her any other time. I was drunk on that kiss and wanted more, but she ran off into the house. I chalked it up to the darkness or one of her moods. Not Gail. The twin I kissed was you.” He peered into her eyes, searching for denial.

  Color flooded her face. Her gaze fell, then returned to meet his. “I never told anyone. Especially not Gail.”

  “It’s the reason I said Gail’s name when I kissed you in the kitchen. I was drunk on your kiss the same way. Why did you let me kiss you?”

  She didn’t embrace him as before, but letting her hands rest on his shoulders was a step in the right direction. “At first you surprised me.”

  “And I never suspected. Until this—you, me. The girl I knew then would’ve knocked me on my ass, verbally anyway. But no. You practically ripped off my clothes.”

  She huffed. “Your ego’s talking there, buster. I let you kiss me because I was curious if you’d know the difference. It’s a twin thing. And then—”

  “Yes?”

  “The same chemistry we have now sort of took over.”

  She walked her fingers up his shoulders and linked them behind his head. Her eyes held mysteries he wanted to solve.

  Dark amber.

  Sensual.

  Irresistible.

  She smiled. “Do you want to continue your Sixty Minutes interview or can we return to that chemistry experiment?”

  As reply, he rocked his mouth over hers and sought her tongue. The heat between them ignited again. He hardened, aching for her as she leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He cupped her bottom beneath the short dress and dipped his tongue between her lips.

  When she wriggled around to straddle his lap, he dragged his mouth from hers. “I want you in a bed, not on the couch grappling like teenagers.”

  She slid to her feet. “Your berth or mine?”

  “Mine’s bigger.” He hustled her forward to the berths and followed her onto his queen-size mattress before she changed her mind.

  The light above the table didn’t reach the sleeping quarters. Moonlight through the porthole shed the only illumination, a wash of pale gold across her skin.

  He partly unbuttoned, then peeled off his shirt and tossed it in a corner. “See, you’re not the only one with scars.”

  She traced the jagged mark on his side. “How’d this happen?”

  “During a sting to take down a gang for illegal arms dealing. Arrested the leader, biker with tattoos wallpapering his dome. He objected. Stabbed me.” He tackled his belt with fingers made clumsy by passion. “I want you naked but I’m afraid I’d tear that flimsy dress if I tried to get it off you.”

  She started on the zipper, but her finger stilled. “I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  There she went again, doubting her appeal. He bent over and kissed her, a long tangling of tongues that poured heat through his body and swamped his system. Breath coming in short gasps, he lifted up on one elbow and finished sliding down the zipper. “Same goes. You’re not the one who has to perform here.”

  She sputtered a laugh and stripped the dress over her head. With the barely there confection went whatever passed for a bra, leaving her clad only in pink bikini panties.

  He smoothed his hands over her peaked nipples. “Never hide these from me again. Perfection.”

  His gaze veered to the mottled puckering that formed a wide strap on her left shoulder. Below it blue and red art swirled above the upper slope of her breast. The stylized design depicted Gemini. The twins.

  “I’ve wanted to see this tattoo since the first time I caught a glimpse of the color.” His heart pounded in rhythm with the water lapping against the hull. He had to get this right. He bent to kiss the scarring and the tattoo. “Your personal memorial.”

  Her wary gaze turned liquid as she appeared to accept his take on the marks. “Yes, a permanent one.” She opened her arms. “Now come here.”

  He grabbed protection from a drawer by the berth and fell onto the covers with her. He covered her breasts with kisses. By the time he’d stripped off her panties and the rest of his clothing, there was only heat and hunger.

  The need had never been so compelling, so complete. And as restrained as she had been moments before, she was as bold and sensual with him now. Every touch, every honeyed taste of her, every slide of skin drugged him, branded him, added to the pressure clawing at him. But no, take it slow, make it good for her. He started counting backwards from a thousand.

  She was drowning in sensory overload. Her brain went on the fritz. She could only feel, not think or speak. He grazed his teeth across her shoulder muscle, and fire shot down to her toes. He laved her breasts with his tongue, and her nipples puckered. She shivered at the cool sensation left behind. He took her down in a kiss that was hard, hot, and hungry. He used his teeth and tongue, and his dark, male taste flowed into her, tingling through her, jolting her, triggering an ache deep in her body.

  Jake, Jake, Jake.

  How could this be just sex? This fevered urgency and shock waves of need, yes. But the softness and euphoric awareness were more than sex. They were only kissing, and yet she felt swamped with new sensations and emotions—like swallowing sunshine.

  She felt the depth of his desire as he ran his palm, roughened by hard labor, down her belly. His touch sparked heat and longing that threatened to consume her. She rolled into him, wrapped one leg around his hard hips, and writhed against him, used her mouth on him, on his beard-roughened jaw, down the summer-warmed skin of his neck, to his flat nipples. She felt his heart thumping in tandem with hers. Heard only their ragged breathing and the slap of water against the hull, nature’s rhythms. Ah, if only that harmony could last.

  She breathed in his familiar scent. She loved the way his muscles quivered when she licked her way back up. She cupped him, closed her hand around him, and smiled when he groaned. When his fingers found her most sensitive spot, brushed, stroked, swirled, she nearly lifted off the berth.

  “Now!” She arched her hips and pulled him closer, if it was possible to be closer.

  “About time.” His words gritted out like sandpaper on stone.

  When he joined their bodies, she wrapped her legs around him to drive him more deeply. They both stilled, and then he was moving in her, with her, and they seemed to move as one. Tomorrow they would return to the quest but tonight he
was hers, joined in passion that burned away all the danger and pain and secrets.

  *****

  Lani woke to the sun streaming through the porthole and warming her face. She lifted her head from the pillow and found Jake beside her, his eyes still closed. She sprawled across the rumpled sheets, warm and sated. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless.

  Opening herself, sharing herself with Jake had tipped her over the brink. Emotion and desire mixed in the heat of passion made a dangerous brew. She could no longer make herself push him away. You play with fire, kid, you’re going to get burned. She winced at the imagery.

  She couldn’t read him. Most of the time he kept his emotions and his thoughts closed off. No longer the open boy she’d once known, tragedy had taught him to build walls. Walls, she could relate to. She’d erected a few. Ones he was dismantling. And was it her he’d made love with? Or Gail? He claimed he’d said her twin’s name because of that one time years ago she kissed him. How could that be true? No matter, she had to keep it just sex. Right.

  Men don’t stay. He won’t stay. So suck it up.

  “Good morning.” Jake’s deep, sleep-roughened voice pulled her from her reverie.

  She blinked. “Good morning yourself.”

  “Regrets about last night?” He smoothed a finger across her forehead. “Or are those furrows about our bad guy?”

  Busted. “Wondering if you had any regrets. My poker face must be no better than yours.”

  The stubble on his hard jaw lured her to touch him. Then she trailed her hand down to thread her fingers through the smattering of crisp hair on his chest. To her satisfaction, she saw his eyes darken.

  “No regrets, and I have an idea how to prove it to you.” He rolled over, covering her with his body. His hands framed her face. He stared at her, his expression serious. “Lani.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head and kissed her in a way that made her pulse sing. His mouth—hot, firm and confident—branded her everywhere. Her throat, her breasts, her belly. One day he would leave but if this was all she had with him, she’d take it. She ran her hands over his back, loving the solidity of him in her arms, the way he made her feel wanted and, yes, loved.

  Chapter 20

  On the way back from visiting his mother, Jake stopped for gas at the convenience store north of Dragon Harbor.

  Lani was safe with Nora and other political types working on the campaign’s parade float for Saturday’s Dragon Harbor Days celebrating the hundred and sixtieth anniversary of the village’s settlement. If anything came up, she could call his cell.

  He flipped up his windbreaker hood as protection from the fog that had rolled in during the night. He grimaced at the cost of the fill-up, then again when the read-out sent him inside with his debit card. He stood in line behind a woman selecting lottery tickets, two men with take-away foam cups, and a baby-faced teen in chain-decorated black denim bearing a twenty-ounce bottle of amped-up soda and a bag of tortilla chips.

  A delay he didn’t need.

  His visit with Ma had gone well, the best in weeks. He didn’t regret a second of that time.

  Nor did he regret a second of the time spent making love with Lani. Instantly the memory renewed that sharp need for her that slugged him in the heart. In spite of his defenses, she knew him too well. She was bright and brave and had become his friend.

  He liked talking things over with her. Not just their mutual cause, but other things. She had distinct opinions about everything, including ideas about modernizing Gram’s bungalow. Some he agreed with; others he didn’t. Those she just waved away in a manner than charmed him. She made him think, always challenging him. In spite of his defenses, she knew him too well. She’d invaded the very fiber of his being and made him feel emotions he’d avoided.

  He enjoyed her, cared for her, enjoyed making love with her, and he liked waking up with her this morning. She did make the best coffee. But two people with too much baggage would make for a hazardous future.

  But a future without Lani?

  His pulse stumbled and he willed away the intruding emotions. Those he had no time for. He didn’t want to be late for his meeting with Otis. Since other leads stymied him like dead ends in an autumn corn maze, he needed something that would point in a new direction.

  After paying for his gas and a candy bar, he paused to open the candy wrapper. The aromas of chocolate and caramel dispelled the tang of gasoline on his fingers. A familiar face at the pump beside his caught his eye and he stepped aside to watch through the window. Beside a black pickup, Kevin Meagher stood talking to the man who’d been following Lani.

  Anticipation quickened Jake’s pulse. Maybe a lead had dropped in his lap. They kept their voices too low to carry into the store but Kevin’s doubled fists and Brandon’s angry face meant trouble. Another motorist gave them a wide berth as he returned the squeegee to its bin and hurried to drive on.

  Abruptly the argument stopped when Kevin crossed to his company truck, parked off to the side, and zoomed off toward Bayport. Brandon appeared to shrug off his ire, then finished gassing up his black king cab. His own maybe, since it had no Meagher logo on the side like Kevin’s did. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, a smile replaced his scowl.

  Did the two men meet by chance or did Kevin stop when he saw Brandon at the pump? Jake chewed the question along with the candy. Probably the latter.

  His gut said the argument had nothing to do with Meagher Enterprises. The black Ford could be the same pickup he saw speeding away after the attack on Lani. Could also be the one that rammed her on the cliff. Suspicion sifted inside him. He needed to get a better look.

  Dammit, he might be late but he couldn’t miss this opportunity. So when Brandon drove toward the village, Jake followed, hanging back as another vehicle, a green van, passed the store.

  After about a mile, the truck turned off, onto a private gravel drive that leading toward shore. A post at the end of the drive bore the East Road address but no name. The green van continued on south, its taillights disappearing into the mist.

  Jake studied the entrance for possible cover. He couldn’t let himself be seen, but he had to give snooping a shot. If Brandon wasn’t involved in the attacks on Lani or the arson-murders, no harm done. If he was, finding some evidence—a dent in the truck, paint from Lani’s car—even a hint Jake was on the right track, merited the risk. He’d left his Glock in the lock box on board the Amy Jo, so he hoped he’d need no weapon.

  This stretch of the East Road lay parallel to the bay, less than a third of a mile away. He could go in on foot if he had a place to stash the truck. And he knew just the place.

  Another hundred yards took him to a new house lot, where the builder had cleared trees and poured a foundation. No one in sight. Maybe an independent carpenter who worked this project after his day job. He turned onto the bulldozer-ridged drive and pulled behind a small construction trailer.

  After locking the Cherokee, he plunged into the woods, his sneakers kicking up the spice of pine needles and dead leaves. He’d baked in the overheated nursing home but now welcomed the protection of his jeans and windbreaker. A dense thicket of wild blackberry canes and other underbrush snatched at his jacket, wet from the dripping leaves.

  At the gravel drive, spruce and maple trees arched overhead. He trudged along by the narrow track, taking care to make no sound and stay in the cover of the underbrush.

  A small frame house with gray cedar shakes and a new chimney came into sight and he caught the salt of the water and dampness of the thick fog. The drive opened into a well-tended yard and led to a closed two-car garage. Damn nice place for a part-time dozer driver—if it was Brandon’s. He saw neither the ruddy-faced man nor his truck but heard voices.

  The dark windbreaker should help conceal him in the shadows. He swiped water from the bridge of his nose and made his way around the dwelling toward the water side.

  Two voices. One had to be Brandon, and the other he recognized—Ed
Pascal. What the hell was the harbormaster doing here? The visit could be innocent. Jake had seen the two men together before. Maybe they were friends. Or maybe this was Pascal’s house. Or one of them was Vargas.

  He had to get close enough to hear their conversation. He crept along the passenger side of the black pickup, its engine ticking as it cooled. Keeping the vehicle between him and the men, he gave the side the once over. A few minor scrapes and dings, no foreign paint like the white of Lani’s totaled Subaru. He couldn’t work his way around to see the front bumper without being seen. Shaking his head, he peered at the men through the truck window.

  Brandon and Pascal stood on a long wooden dock attached to a boathouse with a wide overhanging roof like a pagoda. Tied to the dock was the harbor launch. With the wind whipping the water against the pilings, Jake still couldn’t hear, but it was obvious this conversation was no argument. A hard plastic cooler sat between them. Brandon picked it up, examined the contents, then snapped it closed and set it back down.

  A fish sale? Tools? Or a drug deal? Needing to hear better, he took a step forward. A metallic clatter at his feet jerked the men’s heads around as though on trout lines.

  “Who’s there?” Brandon called.

  Shit! Jake had kicked a beer can beside the truck’s front tire. No way could he explain his presence.

  When Brandon pulled a semiautomatic from his windbreaker pocket and began to walk toward him, his pulse revved into overdrive. A gunfight was out of the question, no matter what they were up to. He backed around the truck and ducked into the woods.

  The harbormaster laughed. “Nothin’ but a squirrel. You spook too easy.”

  Jake didn’t wait for Brandon’s reply or to thank the squirrel that covered his butt. He booked it for his pickup. What he’d seen hadn’t been innocent. The gun confirmed that much.

  Cocaine? Heroin? Maybe that was how an ordinary workman could afford waterfront property with a deepwater dock and a boathouse. And maybe a connection to the smuggling centered in Portland. What if anything did Kevin have to do with the man’s dirty deals? His head reeled with too many questions.