With a Southern Touch: AdamA Night in ParadiseGarden Cop

by Jennifer Blake

  He’d stopped to listen for the third or fourth time. When he started on again, Lara put out a hand to touch his arm as she said softly, “Wait.”

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice a breath of sound.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t tell me you can’t guess?” The question was more caustic than he’d intended, but he let it stand.

  “We need to find Aunt Kim.”

  “Point me in the right direction, and you’ve got it. That’s if she wasn’t caught before the excitement started, and if we don’t have company on our tail.”

  “You always have everything figured out, don’t you?” she returned with sibilant heat. “Some things have to be done on instinct, because they’re right instead of because they’re logical.”

  “Not thinking ahead can get you killed.”

  “Waiting until you have everything mapped out to the last inch can mean being forever paralyzed by details.”

  Adam held on to his temper with an effort. “I’m not paralyzed. I’m also not going to run around here without a plan. But if you want to take charge of this little expedition, go right ahead.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to take charge, and I’m not criticizing. I just don’t intend to follow behind you like a blind monkey. This isn’t Me Tarzan, You Jane here. I can help if you’ll let me.”

  Adam wasn’t used to help. He also wasn’t used to women who called him on his more macho traits. Except his mother, of course, who sometimes told him in moments of annoyance that he was as overbearing as his father had been. He shoved the bottle he still carried into the back pocket of his jeans, then raked his fingers through his hair. “Look,” he said in quieter tones, “we don’t know which direction your aunt went, don’t know whether the creeps back there are on her trail or on ours. Until we figure it out, we have to keep moving. If we stand still, we become sitting targets and Kim could be getting farther away from us every minute. So I’m taking a circular route that just may bring us to a meeting point if she’s moving in a straight line away from where she started. It’s the best I can do until we can tell exactly what’s happening.”

  “I see,” she said with a slow nod. “All right.”

  The words signaled understanding, but had a tentative sound that prevented him from moving. “But?”

  “But I think…I think she’s hurt and hiding.”

  “Don’t tell me,” he said in tight control. “You just feel it?”

  “In the same way that you’re almost sure someone is behind us.”

  He frowned as he saw what she meant. Whether it was the law of probability, some noise below the level of conscious hearing, or the rising of the hair on the back of his neck, the instinct was there. A small, tight spot inside him eased as her ability began to make sense in a weird sort of way. Staring into the blackness around them, he said deliberately, “I’m also circling around to the barn where your aunt’s car is hidden. And where she left her cell phone.”

  Lara was silent for long seconds. Then she spoke with dry humor that acted like a balm on his too-alert nerves. “That’s very…logical.”

  “Ain’t it, though,” he said in wry agreement, then added, “Which way, then? Your vote, since you seem to have better information.”

  She didn’t move, but only held his gaze there in the darkness. He couldn’t see her eyes yet he could feel them. And he also felt an odd communication of gratitude from her for his acceptance, however reluctantly, of her ability. It embarrassed him since it was such a small thing, a miserly bit of belief. Shaking his head, he looked away.

  The night breeze rose, brushing the beard-shadowed planes of his face, sifting through his hair, stirring the treetop above them. Tree leaves whispered, pine straw eddied around their feet, and a swath of cloud covered the face of the moon. It was a perfectly natural change on a night in early summer, but still seemed peculiar, as if time had slowed, taking on a dreamlike Midsummer’s Night madness in its headway toward the dawn.

  That wind and the weird dislocation it created in his mind were like a replay of that moment when Lara had been caught in his headlights on the drive. He was losing it, Adam thought, if he abandoned logic long enough to even begin to accept a supernatural explanation for that or anything else that had happened tonight. Yet what else was there?

  Lara reached out to touch his hand. “Hurry. We have to find Aunt Kim while there’s less chance of being seen or heard.”

  It seemed like a good idea. Before he said or did something he’d regret.

  Adam led the way at a half trot, skimming around thickets and through stands of trees, holding limbs aside until Lara passed, then outdistancing her again so he could take the brunt of whatever might show up ahead of them. She held her own, keeping up with him in spite of their twisting, ducking, single-file progress. She was something else. The only problem was, he couldn’t quite make up his mind just what.

  Abruptly, he felt her absence like a sudden alarm going off in the hollow of his chest. He skidded to a halt in deep pine straw, looked back, to the side, all around. Nothing. He spun to retrace his steps at Mach speed. Fifty feet back down the trail, he leaped a dry branch, then tripped over a crouched figure. Instinct kicked in. He caught the kneeling assailant in a flying tackle as he fell, then rolled to pin him with his full weight.

  “Get off, you idiot,” Lara exclaimed in muffled anger. “I just stopped to tie my running shoe.”

  He’d known it was her the instant he touched her, but not in time to stop his forward momentum. The residue of dread that she might have been hurt or picked off by the man who followed them held him rigid.

  “You could have warned me,” he said. His irritation was not helped by the knowledge that he had lost the extra Molotov cocktail when he jumped her.

  “I would have if I’d known you were going to overreact this way.”

  She had no idea of the extent of his reaction. The sensation of her soft curves, heated from exertion, beneath him was so mind-boggling that he could barely think. It was the effect of a danger-induced testosterone rush, he knew, though it didn’t make it any easier to combat. Like an uploading program on a computer, the vision of making love to her there on the bed of pine straw flashed through his mind in a series of images too fast to grasp. Lust, need and an odd, aching pain that had nothing to do with either, gripped him with iron hands. He was consumed by the urge to take her there, to hold her as if the night had no end and he could become a part of her forever. It was a white-hot yearning in his brain, a vital ache at the center of his being.

  The main thing that stopped him, other than lack of invitation, was the sure knowledge that the chance of being caught bare-backside-naked in a tangle of briers and discarded clothing would not be a turn-on for most women. And it was definitely no way to die.

  Nine

  An odd mix of relief and regret shifted through Lara as Adam wrenched away from her and surged upright. She extended her hand, and he caught it and hauled her to her feet with a single hard pull, steadying her until she had her balance.

  “You took care of the shoelaces?” he asked in abrupt inquiry.

  “Yes.” Lara could hear the strain in her clipped response.

  “Then stay close. And don’t stop again for anything, anything at all, unless I stop first.”

  It was fear that sounded in his voice, she thought in sudden recognition, the fear that he would lose her in the dark, that something would happen to her that was beyond his control, or that he would fail her in some way. Beyond these things was also consternation that he had come close to being at the mercy of her whim and his hormones. He had wanted her just then, as she knew very well, and was trying to cover it. She felt her annoyance at his commanding tone ease, melting away until it was gone.

  With ancient female irony, she answered, “No, I didn’t intend to.”

  He made no reply, but started off again. Smiling a little to herself, she followed.

  It was several weary minutes and br
ier scratches later when the woods began to thin. They had reached an area where the pine timber had been cut over in the not-too-distant past. Through the standing hardwoods, she caught the dim outline of the old barn, mainly because she knew where it was. It was large, as such things went, since it had served a sizeable farm for at least four generations. Down the near side stretched the remains of a toolshed and corn and feed bins, while a milking shed was attached to the other. The center section had once housed animals, plows and wagons, with the level above it used as a hayloft and sometimes a drying area for peanuts. The big double doors stood open, hanging on their hinges. Through the wide opening could be seen Aunt Kim’s rental car parked in the ancient ruts of wagons, Model Ts and humpbacked Studebakers.

  Lara took a few quick steps to catch up with Adam, then grabbed his elbow to bring him to a halt. “There,” she said, indicating the barn’s wide shape in the darkness. “You found it.”

  He put his warm fingers over her hand to draw her deeper into the shade of a large oak. Using its trunk for cover, he stood slowly quartering the night with his gaze, from the deep woods behind them to the lighter area back toward the house that glowed with the fire he’d caused. When he’d scanned every section of the wide area before them, he shook his head.

  “No sign of our visitors that I can tell. You?”

  He was actually asking for her help and opinion. The realization brought an odd ache to the back of her throat. However, her answer was still a quiet negative.

  “Where the hell are they?” he asked almost to himself.

  “Close. I don’t think they’ve given up.”

  “So much for that hope,” he commented in astringent humor. “What about Kim?”

  “Close, too.”

  “You mean—do you think they have her?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “But you don’t know, or can’t be sure. That it?”

  She didn’t reply to that, couldn’t for the dread that was building slowly inside her. “What now?”

  “Your call.”

  She tested the sound of that to see if it was on the level. It seemed to be, which left her undecided. Something was coming. They were too far away to stop it, she thought, and she was too involved to see its full outline. But soon, too soon, she and the man beside her would have to face it. Could they? Were they ready? She needed to know beyond doubting.

  While she dithered between a safe course and one more risky, the moon emerged from behind trailing clouds. A pale shaft of light fell through the tree limbs above them to gild Adam’s hair and face. She turned her head to stare at him, even as he shifted to avoid the light. And suddenly she knew what she needed to do. After all, a man was never more surely himself than when he made love. In that moment of abandon, his reactions, rough or tender, timid or aggressive, considerate or selfish, showed exactly what he was inside.

  How to begin? He had given her the clue himself, hadn’t he? It had been in his tale of her appearing before him on the drive, naked beneath a cloak of silver space-age silk. If that was his fantasy, then it should be easy enough to carry it to its inevitable conclusion. She had only to join him in it.

  Standing in absolute stillness, Lara reached out with her mind to the man who stood so broad and tall beside her. She closed with him in delicate mental probing, seeking his interest, desire or acceptance as an entryway into his imagination. She felt only a barrier, strong and impenetrable. The pain of disappointment was intense, like being physically rejected. It brought a small, unconscious sound of distress to her throat.

  Abruptly, the shield he seemed to have raised against her was gone. He turned his head to stare at her, his gaze night-black under the hollows formed by his brows. She had the strange idea that he saw her clearly, both in his mind’s eye and in actuality, and offered no resistance to either. It was a stunning feeling, like standing before an abyss with no beginning and no end, one so deep and wide that she could disappear into it forever. Yet she had to take the plunge. She could see no other way.

  The tie that held her long braid had caught on some twig and been snatched away. Her hair streamed loose down her back, so that a sudden wind shift lifted its shining filaments around her like wings. And with that sense of freedom and involuntary merging with Adam’s first vision, she summoned the image of a silver cloak and took metaphysical flight.

  Her jeans, T-shirt and scant underwear melted away. With the moonlight shimmering on her nakedness and the imaginary cloak swirling around her, she took the few steps that brought her close to him. When the sensitive nipples of her breasts brushed the fabric of his shirt, she lifted her hands, flattening the palms against his chest. She slid them upward, circling his neck, and then exerted gentle pressure to bend his head toward her until his mouth touched hers.

  Sweet, warm, tender, the infinite sensory impressions of his kiss filled her mind. She inhaled sharply, taking his scent, the very essence of him, deep inside her. At the same moment, she felt his chest rise with his deep-drawn breath. Then his arms closed around her with warmth and certainty to draw her against him, into him.

  It was magic of a superior kind, a fine blending of body, mind and soul. It was grace and generosity so powerful that she wanted to become lost in them. With a soft murmur, she shifted nearer until every possible inch of her skin was pressed to him, as if she could absorb knowledge of him through her pores.

  He touched her lips with his tongue in experiment and invitation and she opened to him as naturally as a moonflower to cool lunar rays. That gentle abrasion, the heat of his mouth, glassy edges of his teeth, and taste of him were heady incitements. She wanted more of him, needed to know all that he was or ever could be.

  Loosening his hold, he touched her breast, capturing it in the chalice of his hand. Fire licked along her veins, threatening her heart. She shifted her grasp to clutch the hard muscles of his arm, feverishly urging him to greater liberties. He took them, smoothing over her bare skin as if learning its secrets, reveling in its heat and satin resilience. Swinging with her in his arms, he pressed her back to the trunk of the huge oak, then drew away a little to view the gentle hills and hollows that he explored so diligently.

  She wanted to see him as well, to feel his bare skin gliding over her own. With trembling fingers, she stripped away buttons, manipulated his zipper, and took the firm, hard length of him into her hand. She felt the throbbing of his heart in the distended flesh and was enchanted by the discovery, filled with such tenderness at that sign of his extreme arousal that she could hardly contain it. At the same time, she was engulfed by bittersweet recognition of how transient was this moment, and how far short of reality it must fall.

  Adam’s passion, unleashed by her will in this ephemeral encounter, was less introspective. Its surging force banished thought, swept her up in its turbulence. The answering rush of desire inside her was stunning as it swept away doubt, fear, or inhibition, leaving the moist heat of receptivity in its wake.

  His entry was a white-hot glide, a vital filling, a merging so incredible that it brought instant completion. Her very being coalesced around him. The glory of it took her breath, turned her muscles to hot stone, shut down the power of thought. Then, supporting her weight against his own body, he moved with her, into her, sending them both spiraling into the darkest, most blood-pounding magic of them all.

  One moment they were holding tight, breathing deep, trying to recover in body and mind. The next, they were separated by the exact distance that had been between them when it began. Neither had moved. They had hardly blinked. The entire incident, its delicate, slow-motion unfolding and bright climax, had taken scant seconds.

  That small blip of time was enough. Adam had passed her test as he met and blended with her in mental exploration. Lara was satisfied, finally, that he was trustworthy. If there was more to what he was or could be, she dared not consider it, not now, perhaps not ever. Like all human beings, he had his own needs, his own vision of perfect fulfillment that might well i
nvolve someone different, a woman less complicated in her approach or requirements.

  Yet he was aware. He had felt the same thing she had, known the same momentary bewitchment. It was there in the darkness of his dilated pupils, the stiffness of his neck muscles, the unnerved paleness of his face.

  The shot slapped the night, the crack of it tunneling into the darkness with a traveling echo. Adam whipped around toward the sound. Lara stood perfectly still as she followed his line of sight. The breeze that cooled them dropped as suddenly as it had begun.

  “There.” Lara pointed toward where the old track that led to the barn lay among the trees. In both their minds, she thought, was the memory of Aunt Kim and the missing pistol.

  He plunged in that direction at once.

  “Adam!” The call, edged with protest and warning, came from pure instinct.

  He came to a sliding halt, turned. “Yes?”

  “Nothing. I… Wait for me.”

  Lara joined him with a few quick steps. Then they headed for the place the shot had come from at a fast trot. Seconds later, they caught movement through the trees.

  Adam slowed, approaching with caution as he crouched to keep a low silhouette. Lara was on his heels as he slid into a thicket of wild plums at the edge of the old barn track. They shifted positions with silent care until they could see through the thorny branches.

  What she’d expected to see, Lara wasn’t sure. Some kind of disaster, certainly; Aunt Kim struggling with the two men sent by her dead husband’s uncle maybe, or else being frog-marched between them to where they’d left their car. She hadn’t anticipated finding her aunt holding two of the goons at gunpoint, one of them, Demarius, clutching his shoulder and the other with his hands stacked on top of his head.