Brady felt the heat of a rare blush working up his neck, but he couldn’t control the cockeyed grin that tugged at his lips. So much for hoping she wouldn’t notice.
Mac skirted around him and headed for the bathroom, something close to amusement in her half-closed eyes.
Huh. Of all the reactions she could have had, that one he hadn’t expected. It was good that she had a sense of humor. He’d rather she laugh at him than be afraid. He usually had more self-control than that, and it was a reminder that he’d have to be careful. Strong emotional responses seemed to be the order of the day around her.
Disgusted with himself, he grabbed the paper bag she’d left on the bed, ripped it open from stem to stern, and spilled its contents all over the floor. Swearing under his breath, he bent stiffly to gather up the few groceries he’d bought. A can of soup, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and one of jelly. The remnants of the bag still held the box of plastic utensils he’d grabbed at the last minute.
He opened the soup with the can opener he still carried on his key chain. His father had used it when he was stationed in Germany and had given it to Brady when he enlisted. As he traced the edges of the small utensil with his thumb, sadness swirled in the farthest recesses of his mind where he’d relegated the memories of his family. If his dad were alive today, would he be disappointed in his son? His father had been stronger than Brady. He’d gone away to war too, but he hadn’t come home broken. Brady squeezed his fist around the can opener, forced the disturbing questions away, and shoved the key chain in his pocket again.
He poured the soup into two paper cups and set them side by side in the microwave. Stealing napkins from the motel’s coffee and creamer packets, he spread them on the table and proceeded to assemble two PBJ sandwiches. Hopefully, Mac’s stomach was settled enough that she’d be able to eat. It wasn’t a gourmet meal by any means, but it would keep them from starving.
The shower turned off, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door cracked open. Brady glanced up, then did a double take. Shit! What was so damn sexy about a woman wearing his clothes? His T-shirt nearly swallowed her, falling to midthigh, all but covering his shorts that could have held at least two of her. Her wet hair hung straight behind her back. A self-conscious smile tipped one corner of her lips, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
As she stepped farther into the room, everything below his waist tightened. He was going to be in big trouble if he couldn’t think of something else to concentrate on. He should have let it go . . . but hell, what was the fun in that? “Nice getup.” He grinned and winked as his gaze slowly swept from her feet to her slightly pink face.
Mac sucked her lower lip into her mouth and bit it, ratcheting his lust up another notch.
Brady took a deep breath. “You may think you look silly in those things, but I guarantee you look better in them than I do.”
That got a laugh, and she walked slowly toward him. “What are you working on?”
“Dinner . . . or breakfast since it’s Saturday morning . . . whichever you prefer.” He stepped aside so she could see the sandwiches.
She shook her head, the smile disappearing. “I couldn’t eat anything.”
Brady pulled out a chair and motioned her into it. She hesitated, but then did as he requested. He set the timer on the microwave for two minutes and hit the start button.
“It’s been a rough night.” He leaned over her with one hand on the table and one on the back of her chair. “This isn’t over. Not even close. I caught a little of those guys’ conversation while I was climbing down that tree. They weren’t only disappointed that you weren’t there; they were pissed and damn worried about someone named Hernandez finding out you were still alive. Know anyone by that name?” Brady knelt down beside her, drawing her gaze with him.
“I’ve never heard of anyone around here by that name. Sitka is a small town. I’d know.” Fear and hopelessness clouded her expression.
Damn. If only he had some hope to give her, but until they knew what was going on in this town and how it involved the lady M, who may or may not be Maria, they wouldn’t know which way to duck. Brady reached for her hand. “We’ll figure this out, but you need your strength, and that means you have to eat. After that, we’ll talk.”
The microwave dinged, and he set the two cups of soup on the table, putting plastic spoons in each.
Mac made no move to eat, but then shrugged. “It does smell kind of good.” She brought the spoon to her mouth tentatively and had to try a couple times to swallow, but she finally made it and flashed him a pathetic smile.
Brady chuckled and finished his soup before reaching for his sandwich. Questions flooded him. Who was she? Why had she really shown up at the house on Gardner? Most of all, why had two Alaska State Troopers tried to kill her? And who the hell was Hernandez?
“Are you a PBJ fan?”
Her question dragged him from his ponderings. “You could say that.” She had finished her soup and was halfway through the sandwich herself. “You too?”
“My favorite.” She took one final bite, wrapped the remains in her napkin, and pushed her chair back. “You cooked—I’ll clean up.” With a smile, she grabbed both cups and his napkin, tossed them in the garbage, and walked the rest of her sandwich to the refrigerator. She straightened and brushed the crumbs off her hands, then looked at him expectantly.
Brady shook his head. “I think I got the worst end of that deal.” He studied her as she smiled. She was holding up damn well. Too well. She’d been through hell tonight, and heaven knows what had transpired the night before. The other shoe would fall. It was just a matter of when. For now, maybe she could answer a few of his questions. It was never that easy, though. The best way to get someone to open up was to answer their questions first. That wasn’t always possible for Brady, since much of his work for Joe Reynolds was off the books, but he’d answer what he could.
He motioned toward her chair. “How about some question and answer time?”
Her expression instantly became wary, but she walked toward him and sat.
He waited until she began to fidget. “You first. Ask away.”
Her gaze darted to his. “Uh . . . okay.” Clearly she hadn’t expected to be the one asking the questions. The crease in her forehead deepened, and she cleared her throat. “Who are you, and who is M?”
Brady leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs in front of him. “As I said earlier—my name’s Jim Brady. I’m fairly certain M is Maria Alverez. Until just recently, she was a child-care provider and housekeeper to a former FBI agent living in Anchorage. Maria’s five-year-old son, Marco, was kidnapped eight months ago and was being held by a drug lord in Nogales, Mexico. My boss got a team of men and women together, including myself, to go after him. We got him out without too much trouble, but now his mother has disappeared.
“I finally tracked her to Sitka, and the night I arrived, that note I showed you was shoved under my motel room door. You know the rest.” Brady rubbed his hand across the back of his neck.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t she want to step up and claim her son? Does she know that’s why you’re here?” Disbelief darkened Mac’s eyes.
“She was kept in the loop from the minute we found out where Marco was being held. When we left for Mexico to rescue him, she was so excited that we thought we might have to physically detain her to keep her from heading down there too. From the last conversation we had with her, she was all packed and ready to go back to Montana to get her son as soon as she got the call saying we’d been successful. But by the time we made that call, she was gone. Something happened that sent her on the run, and I don’t have any idea what it was. I was hoping she might shed some light when I met her last night, but I found you instead.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why were you there?”
For a moment, he didn’t think she would answer. She straightened in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, nailing him with a calculating stare.
“Why should I trust you?” Her words held a plea. Undoubtedly, she wanted him to convince her she hadn’t screwed up.
Holy shit! What else did he have to do to prove himself? Brady laughed mockingly. “Perhaps you should have asked yourself that question before you walked into my motel room.”
She paled for an instant, but then indignation smoldered in her eyes. “Answer the question . . . if you can.”
He’d miscalculated. His sarcasm had caused her to doubt. He’d have to be more careful. “All right. Let’s recap the obvious. I think I’m the only guy you’ve run into tonight who hasn’t tried to kill you. In fact, I saved you from a seriously painful death. I held your hair while you puked. That should be worth something. I cooked for you, and I let you wear some of my sexiest clothes.” He counted the items off on his fingers, glancing up when a short laugh escaped her lips. Satisfaction coursed through him. It was working better than he’d hoped.
Brady watched her school her expression and pretend she hadn’t found him amusing. That was all right as long as she listened to his final point. “The main reason you should know you can trust me and not be concerned that you walked in here is because you can walk out that door any time you want.” He stood and stepped aside so she had a clear shot at the door. “I won’t stop you if that’s what you want to do.”
She glanced at him, then the door, and back to him as though considering her options. He breathed easier when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.
“Yesterday morning at about three a.m., my best friend was murdered. His name was Patrick Callahan. He was a state trooper. I was on a ride-along with him . . . and I saw him die.” Her struggle for control was obvious, but her voice cracked and broke in spite of her efforts.
Brady returned to his chair. “Let me guess. Our two troopers?”
She nodded. “He was wounded . . . when I found him. Blood everywhere. Then Simpson and Gallagher came back, and Paddy sacrificed himself to give me a chance to get away.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and it was everything Brady could do to keep from pulling her onto his lap.
“He . . . um . . . made me take his gun, his badge, and the card with the information about the meeting with M. I figured if it was that important to Paddy, maybe this M would be able to tell me why he was killed and who was responsible.” She swiped at her tears.
He practically had to bite his tongue not to scold her for irresponsibly putting herself in a dangerous situation. She was a smart girl, yet she’d chosen to hide in that upstairs room anyway, with a gun she had no business wielding. It sounded a lot like something he’d do, but he had the strength and the training to back it up. In any case, she’d had about all the lessons she could take for one day, so his lecture would have to wait. “Did your friend know Maria Alverez?”
“He never mentioned anyone by that name.”
Brady silently mulled over the sparse information Mac supplied. For sure, they had more questions than they had answers. It was time to call in some backup. He’d fill Joe in at daybreak . . . which was only about three hours away.
He pushed his chair back, stood, and offered his hand to Mac. “Come on. Let’s get a couple hours of sleep.”
She rose fluidly and followed him to the bed, then stood back, apparently waiting to see what he would do.
He glanced at her, recognizing the obvious discomfort in her crossed arms, white knuckles, and the sexy way she chewed on her bottom lip. It wasn’t hard to guess the cause. “You take under the covers. I’ll sleep on top. There’s a spare blanket in the closet.” He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it on the back of a chair, then bent to remove his boots and socks. Sleeping in his jeans would likely be uncomfortable, especially considering the effect she seemed to have on him, but he’d go the extra mile in his bid to get her to trust him.
By the time he retrieved the spare blanket, she was lying stiffly beneath the covers, as close to the edge as possible. He spread the blanket over both sides of the bed and flopped down, reaching out to turn the bedside lamp off. Darkness filled the room, and the only sound was her quick, shallow breaths. Soon, his chest was rising and falling to the same erratic rhythm. At this rate, neither of them would get any sleep.
He rolled toward her and propped himself up on his arm. “Do you want to talk since we’re both miles away from being able to sleep?” Brady could just make out the outline of her face as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He could practically feel her gaze sliding over him, as sure as if she stroked him with her hands. The resulting sensations did things to him that she probably wouldn’t appreciate.
“No. Not really. Sorry if I’m keeping you awake.” Mac shifted to roll away from him, and he reached for her.
She stiffened when his hand closed around her elbow and his thumb started slow strokes across the tender fold of her arm as he tried to reassure her.
“We don’t have to talk about you. Ask me anything you’d like. Nothing’s off limits.”
She was quiet for a few seconds and then let her breath out slowly. “You believed me when I told you the troopers would kill me. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t ask me any questions. You didn’t make me feel like I was crazy. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but . . . why?”
Brady squeezed her arm. “That’s easy. I knew you were telling the truth.”
She snorted. “How could you possibly know? I was a stranger, and I had just held a gun to your back. Why would you trust me?”
“That’s true enough, and the first words out of your mouth were a lie. Remember? You tried to tell me you were a trooper. Why on earth did you do that, anyway?”
“I have no idea.” She laughed, more relaxed than she’d been so far.
“Well, that lie gave away your tell.”
“I have a tell?” Her voice held a suspicious tone.
“Everyone has a tell.”
“Really? What’s mine?” She leaned closer as though he needed to see her in order to remember.
Her sweet aroma filled his nostrils. He slid his hand up her arm, over her throat and chin, until his fingers gently outlined her lips, ignoring the tension that sprang back to life in her. “When you lie, the right side of your mouth tips up, and you won’t look me in the eyes.” He brushed his hand lightly across her forehead and down her cheek. Damn, she was so soft and silky.
She remained silent for a moment, apparently digesting that. Finally, she relaxed beside him. “What’s yours?”
It was his turn to laugh. “I never lie.”
Mac chuckled. “That was good. I almost believed you.”
Her face was close to his, and he imagined her smiling as they shared the moment. Without realizing, he leaned toward her, brushing his rough and whiskered cheek over hers, breathing in her distracting aroma. An instantaneous stab of desire penetrated his defenses, and he hardened in response.
Her soft intake of breath jolted him back to reality. Still, it was tough getting his mind to stop dwelling on her soft skin and perfect proximity and wrapping it around how raw her emotions were and how much she needed his help. For damn sure, she didn’t need him coming on to her when she had enough on her plate just trying to stay alive another day.
Brady had plenty that he should be focusing on too, and he couldn’t afford to get close to anyone . . . ever. The danger of hurting someone—someone he cared about the most—would always exist. Even the slim chance the doctors had warned him about was unacceptable. He’d made his decision some time ago. Long-distance relationships with his mother, sisters, nieces, and nephews would have to do. As far as women went—he’d had his share, but he made sure he was never there in the morning.
“Oh sorry. Bad idea. Let’s get some sleep.” He laid his head back on the pillow. Was he losing his mind? She didn’t strike him as a one-night stand kind of girl, even without all the drama in her life. But the last twenty-four hours she’d been through hell . . . so what’s the first thing he does? Gets a fucking hard-on for her because they happen to be lying in
the same bed and she smells so damn good. Shit! Been an adult long?
Mac didn’t move for a few seconds but finally turned onto her back and pulled the covers over her arms. “Sleep—sure. Um . . . thanks for distracting me.”
Her voice was low . . . distant, the laughter of a few minutes ago gone. The silence settled between them like a thick fog. He’d crowded her . . . scared her. Undoubtedly, she was lying there trying to figure out the quickest way to get as far from him as possible, and he couldn’t blame her. But, he couldn’t allow her to leave either. She was in serious danger, and whether she knew it or not, he was the only chance she had.
Brady had to fix it, but he was more adept at midnight ambushes than polite conversation with beautiful women. Here’s hoping he wouldn’t make things worse just by opening his mouth.
“Mac?”
She rolled her head toward him. “Thought you were sleeping.”
“I want you to know you’re safe with me. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry if I scared you. It won’t happen again.”
She turned onto her side and braced her head on her arm. “You didn’t scare me, Brady.”
If he could see her face clearly, he’d bet the right side of her mouth would be tipping up, telling him she was lying, but he let it go this time. “We’re good then? You can relax, go to sleep, and know I’ve got your back?”
Mac laid her fingers across his lips, keeping him from saying more. “Brady. Hold that thought.” She leaned into him, stretching until her lips brushed the corner of his mouth.
Whether from shock or fear that he might wake up and lose the dream, Brady lay motionless as her lips moved to the opposite corner and kissed him sweetly. A groan vibrated through his chest as her soft mouth settled on his, and her tongue teased and licked, reawakening the desire that still lingered from the mere thought of her beside him.
Brady opened his mouth to allow her inside at the same moment his arm went around her lower back and pulled her close. He covered her lips and nipped playfully at her bottom one. He held back, returning her tentative kisses with gentle replies, not giving in to the desperation building within him, wishing it didn’t have to end, but knowing it did. He’d made her a promise, and even if she did initiate the sexiest damn kiss he’d ever been a party to, it couldn’t go any further.
Tempt the Night Page 5
