by Pat Warren
He needed no further urging. Gathering her to him, he kissed her, deeply, erotically, lengthily. Her hands on his bare chest explored, caressed, aroused. He eased back and with more patience than he thought he had, he slowly unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing. “This never looked this good on me,” he said as he spread the folds, exposing her to his hungry eyes. Then he shoved the material from her and dipped his head to taste every square inch of her.
A rush of emotions clogged Terry’s throat as she felt her pulse thunder and her breath hitch out through trembling lips. She was steeped in him, drowning in him. Slowly, tenderly, he touched his lips to her throat, the slope of her shoulders, the soft underside of her breasts. No spot was too large or too small for his avid attention. Here was the gentle lover a woman might dream of, might long for, yet found so rarely.
Impatiently, his hands fumbled at the snap of his jeans. He shoved them off along with his briefs before turning back to her. Unable to stop herself, Terry held out her arms, welcoming his return, reaching for his kiss.
He was a man who’d killed and would kill again, but only to save lives, to protect others. She knew that, knew him. He would deny his gentleness though it was there, just as he would deny how much he cared. But she could feel that, too. This wasn’t sex they were sharing, but love they were making.
Because Luke loved her.
She felt it, knew it deep inside herself. Still, she doubted if he’d admit it, even to himself. Yet she knew and the knowledge made her tighten her hold on him, trying to let him know that she loved him in return. He didn’t want to hear the words, she knew, but he needed this, needed her to show him in every other way that mattered.
Single-mindedly, he set about giving her pleasure, shoving his own needs aside. The taste of her, the scent of her, had him half-mad, as he pressed his lips to the quivering peak of one breast. His greedy mouth closed on her and he heard her gasp. As he shifted his attention to her second breast, his hand skimmed down and moved into her heat again.
Buffeted by the maelstrom, Terry’s breath sobbed from her and her eyes fluttered closed as the storm waves hit her. Dear God, she hadn’t dreamed it could be like this. She’d known satisfaction before, but never this mindless bliss, this fierce eruption. And only one man had been able to bring her to this. She opened her eyes and saw him watching her, his eyes darkly intense.
“Not that I’m complaining, but are you ever going to join me?” she asked, her hand caressing his bearded face.
“Do you want me to?”
How odd that he would need the words, this man who’d turned from them just a few days ago. “More than the next breath I take.” She saw the change in his face and knew that he believed her.
He moved over her and in her, a sense of peace overwhelming him instantly. He was home, where he was meant to be. His fingers laced with hers, his eyes locked with hers, he began to move. Slowly, absorbing the feelings, enjoying the intimacy of being skin to skin, heart to heart, climbing together. Light drifted in from the hallway and he saw color infuse her cheeks, felt heat move into his face. Though she fought it, her eyes finally closed as she arched, taking him deeper.
His mouth took hers as the pace quickened. He wanted it to go on forever, wanted her locked with him for all time. But when he heard her cry out in stunned pleasure, his control finally snapped and he let go. Holding her tightly, he emptied himself into her.
Things had shifted again. More than the euphoria of the first night they’d spent in the same bed, last night had been a revelation. An admission that they couldn’t seem to do without the other, though neither had spoken the words aloud.
They hadn’t slept much, time and again reaching for each other, silently reaffirming the depth of their feelings. Toward morning, wrapped in Luke’s strong arms and astonishingly replete, she’d finally drifted off. And she’d awakened the same way, something that was in itself a remarkable pleasure.
They’d showered and dressed, made coffee and eaten breakfast, never mentioning the fierce quarrel that had brought about their devastating estrangement nor the reunion that had introduced this truce. But she noticed that he found reasons to touch her, to brush her cheek, to pull her into a kiss that spoke volumes.
The feelings they shared were not simple, nor would they be easily dismissed, for they’d tried that. The trial was a week away. After that, seemed to be the unstated mutual plan, they’d reexamine their relationship and see where they stood. For now, they would just be. They would take comfort in one another while devoting their energies toward watching out for intruders.
If ever there was a topsy-turvy alliance, it was theirs, Terry thought as she bent to the refrigerator drawer, digging through for vegetables. She’d decided to make a pot of soup. Gathering an armload of carrots, celery, onions, and potatoes, she set them on the counter alongside the stewing beef she’d defrosted.
It was a gray day outside, already looking like evening though it was barely four. It had snowed all night and the wind had blown snowdrifts everywhere, making the overgrown shrubs and barren trees look ghostly. Luke had been out shoveling a path for Duke and Rogue several times, making sure their doggie door was clear. He’d come in a short time ago and gone to sit by the fire, saying he felt chilled to the bone. He’d accepted her offer of a cup of hot coffee, then stretched out in the lounge chair wearing a heavy sweater and the fleece moccasins. He’d even left on his silly black cap. She’d kissed his cold, red cheeks and left him to thaw.
Glancing out the window over the sink, Terry noticed that even the dogs didn’t want to be out in this weather since she couldn’t catch sight of them patrolling. The big shepherds were probably huddled together in the warm storage room. They likely couldn’t pick up a scent in the freshly fallen snow anyhow, so they might as well stay in.
Humming to herself, Terry rinsed and chopped the vegetables, then took out the big Dutch oven and placed it on the front burner. She poured in a tablespoon of oil, then dropped in the meat to brown. She flipped on the burner, and that’s when the kitchen light went out.
Frowning, she wondered if the stove going on had somehow shorted out a wire. Probably just blown a fuse. Going to the doorway, she saw that Luke must have fallen asleep. She hated disturbing him. Fortunately, the big high-beam flashlight was on the hearth. She picked it up and decided to go check the fusebox in the storage room.
Turning on the flashlight, she turned the knob of the storage room. She stepped inside and turned to the left wall where she’d seen Luke checking the fuse box when they’d first arrived. Absorbed in examining each fuse, she didn’t hear the rustle of clothing behind her until it was too late. A hard arm came around her neck, pressing against her throat, effectively blocking her air supply and making even a gasp impossible. She caught a fleeting glimpse of someone wearing a ski mask as she dropped the flashlight, her heart drumming in her chest.
“Where’s your boyfriend, sweetheart?” a deep male voice asked, speaking directly into her ear.
She made a gagging sound and he decreased the pressure slightly. He was a good head taller than she and he was forcing her body tight against his. Her frantic mind raced, wondering if this strong intruder was Nick Russo or one of his henchmen, worrying what had happened to the dogs, hoping Luke had somehow heard him enter.
Nervously, Nick pressed the Magnum’s barrel to her head. He could kill her now, then look for Tanner. But he knew it was smarter to take out the most dangerous one first. Besides, in case something went wrong, he could use the woman as a bargaining chip. “I’m going to give you a little air so you can talk, but don’t you do anything stupid.”
He yanked off his ski mask and pulled her backward so he could look into her wild, frightened eyes. He loved this, having her at his mercy. He grinned down into her face. “You healed up pretty good, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Maybe, if things worked out really well, he’d take the time to have a little fun with her. Serve her right for what she’d put Sam through.
Terry st
ared, recognizing him from pictures Luke had shown her. Sam’s brother, Nick. The loose cannon, as Bob had once described him. Good God, what chance did they have?
Nick kept his voice low. “All right, enough. Tell me where Tanner is.”
Terry felt the gun press into her neck as she tried to swallow. She had to make a pretense of cooperating or he might just shoot her right here. She didn’t want to endanger Luke, but she had no leverage. “In there,” she managed. “Asleep.” She doubted that he was. Luke, with his keen hearing, was probably crouching with his gun, waiting for the right moment.
Nick didn’t believe her. The Luke Tanner he knew wouldn’t have napped in the daytime, nor would he sleep through someone’s breaking in. Holding on to her, the gun still in place, Nick dragged her just far enough into the kitchen so he could see through the archway.
Damned if he wasn’t asleep, the big tilt-back chair facing away. He could see a black cap sticking up and slippered feet on the footrest. The guy had gone soft. He smiled to himself. It would only make his job easier. He’d take him out while the bastard slept on like a baby.
It was then that he heard a sound at the back door. His arm still around Terry, he swiveled them about.
“Let her go, Nick,” John Ryan said. Looking pale and exhausted, he was leaning against the doorframe, blood on his jacket, a police revolver in his hand aimed right at Nick’s head. “I told you I didn’t want her hurt.”
“Dad,” Terry managed, the word barely a croak. What was he doing here? How had he traced her? And how was it he seemed to know Nick Russo?
Cursing silently, Nick realized he should have made sure the old man was dead when he’d shot him by the gate. Now he had no choice but to finish the job before Luke came lunging at his back. He shifted the Magnum from Terry’s neck and aimed it at Ryan. “You should have stayed home, old man.”
John Ryan was past listening. He couldn’t take the time to inspect his beautiful daughter and make sure she was all right. He’d have to be content with trying to save her life after he’d somehow slipped up and allowed this son of a bitch to track him here. He’d come to warn her, to take her somewhere really safe. But he hadn’t been able to outsmart Nick.
John took two steps forward, then another, the gun in his hand steady even if his legs weren’t. The pain in his left shoulder from Nick’s shot was burning like fire, but he forced himself to ignore it. “Go ahead and shoot me, Nick. But I’ll get you at the same time. I’m not afraid of dying, but you might be.”
Nick felt the sweat on his forehead and more trailing down his back inside his shirt. This wasn’t how things were supposed to have gone. Thinking fast, he shifted the girl in front of him. “If I go, she dies with me.”
But he hadn’t counted on the fact that in maneuvering Terry, he’d loosened his hold on her. Seizing the moment, she slammed a hard elbow into his rib cage and, as he bent in pain, she dived for the floor out of the line of fire, giving her father clearance to get off a good shot.
Only John Ryan had lost a lot of blood and his reactions had slowed. As he tried to take aim, he heard a noise behind him.
Just as Nick raised his gun, Luke came barreling through the back doorway, knocking John aside and tackling Nick. They hit the floor in a tumbling heap as Nick’s gun went off, a shot going wild into the ceiling before the Magnum dropped to the floor. Crazily, it spun around and skidded under the stove out of reach.
Watching the gun whiz by her and disappear, Terry wanted to scream out in frustration at not being able to grab it from where she huddled in the opposite corner of the kitchen. She kept her eyes on Luke as he slammed a fist into the hoodlum’s handsome face. She’d been thinking it very odd that he would sleep through all that was happening. She should have guessed that he’d left the living room, setting up a ruse with his hat and slippers, then slipped around the cabin and come in the back way. He’d promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
As the two younger men fought, John Ryan tried to find the gun he’d dropped when he’d been pushed to the floor by the federal agent he knew had been protecting his daughter. His vision blurring from his gunshot wound, he couldn’t seem to focus. Blinking, sweating profusely, he finally spotted the revolver on the floor near the sink and, on hands and knees, he crawled toward it. His fingers closed around the handle just as Nick kicked Luke a good one in the groin, then swiveled and dived for John’s gun.
He had so little strength left, but John Ryan had to do something to rescue his daughter, to redeem himself just a little in her eyes. He could hear Luke Tanner trying to stand up through a pain he was certain would sideline most men. He hung on with all his waning strength, trying to get the barrel aimed toward Nick, who was gripping his wrist with iron force. They struggled another few seconds and then the gun went off.
John felt the searing heat in his chest as he fell backward onto the kitchen floor, the agony all but blinding him. He’d failed yet again.
Frantic now, knowing he was running out of time and chances, Nick tugged the revolver from John’s hand and whirled around. But as he turned, a shot slammed into his gun hand, sending the revolver flying, then another bullet barreled into the right side of his chest. With a high-pitched cry, he fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. He lay slumped on his side, motionless.
Luke stood across the room, relieved that he’d finally been able to recover enough from Nick’s vicious kick to wrest his gun from his waistband and end the melee. When he’d run around back and entered the storeroom, he’d put away the .38, worried he might hit Terry, thinking a surprise flying tackle would work until he could get in position. Thank God, the impromptu plan had worked.
Still reeling from the pain in his groin, he saw Terry scoot over to where her father lay, blood seeping from two wounds. Questions whirled around in Luke’s head—how John Ryan was involved, how he’d gotten here—but answers would have to wait. As Terry bent over her dad, he went to the phone to call for two ambulances and the police, knowing it might take them awhile to get up the snowy mountain road.
Terry stroked her father’s stubbled cheeks, fighting tears.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Your phone call. I… I figured it out. Nick must have been… been following me.” The pain made each breath feel like a stab in the heart.
Terry clutched his hand. “Hang on, Dad. Luke’s calling for an ambulance.” Guilt settled heavily on her shoulders. If only she hadn’t called him, her father wouldn’t have come looking for her, wouldn’t have gotten shot.
“Too late, honey.” His eyelids were so heavy, each breath he took a fresh burst of pain. It was over for him, and John knew it. “I never meant to hurt you… or the rest of the family.” He felt a dribble of something leak out of the corner of his mouth and he knew it must be blood. “I got caught up in it, you know.”
Shocked at what he was saying, Terry squeezed her father’s limp hand. What did he mean? Oh, God, surely not what she was thinking. He was out of his mind with worry and pain, that was all. “Don’t try to talk anymore, Dad. Save your strength.”
He didn’t have much time left and he had so much he wanted to tell her. She had a right to know. In his hazy peripheral vision, he saw Tanner handcuff Nick even though the man wasn’t moving, then stoop alongside Terry, sliding an arm around her waist. But John’s eyes were only for his daughter. “I was a good cop, Theresa Anne, for a lot of years. But after Kathleen died… so many bills… I couldn’t keep up. Mac said he knew of a way I could make some easy money. It was wrong, I know, but I looked the other way.”
She couldn’t say a word, couldn’t get past the huge lump in her throat. Not her beloved father, the one who’d taught her right from wrong. She willed her strength to seep into him.
“I hate what I’ve done to you… to the others.” John heard a rattle in his chest and knew what was happening. Hadn’t he heard it from dozens of victims he’d bent over as a cop? “Tell your mother I’m so sorry.” With a coughing
gasp, he went limp.
Silently, Terry bent her head and wept.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In downtown Phoenix, Terry sat in the front row of Courtroom B in criminal justice court, presided over by Judge Carmichael. In front of her was Prosecutor Amos Wood’s table and seated alongside her was Chief Deputy Bob Jones of the U.S. Marshals Office. Absently, she toyed with the St. George’s medal hanging on a silver chain around her neck. Her eyes were riveted to Senior Agent Lucas Tanner on the witness stand in the trial of the State -vs-Police Sergeant Fred “Mac” McCarthy, Sam Russo and Nick Russo, who’d survived two gunshot wounds. The defense had lost a motion to try the defendants separately. An arrest warrant was out for Ozzie Swain, but as yet, he hadn’t been apprehended.
The three men seated with their counsel at the front table on the other side of the room were on trial for the murders of Don Simon and Lynn Hartley. Although the deaths of Officers Jerry Foster and Neil Manning were thought to be connected and attributable to the defendants, no proof had been found. “It’s enough that we got them on two counts,” Bob had told Terry. Now she had only to pray that the jury would convict them.
Her mother, pale and looking much older these days, sat in the back of the courtroom with Father Tim O’Malley on one side and Aunt Julia on the other. Terry had asked them not to come, but they’d insisted that they had to hear the details, had to be there when they led away the murderers.
Terry glanced back at Emily Ryan now and saw that she was listening intently to the prosecutor’s questions and Luke’s testimony. Her husband’s death had diluted the joy of her daughter’s safe return. But that hadn’t been the worst of it. Discovering that John had been on the take for years had crushed Emily’s spirit and put a disappointed sadness into her eyes that Terry knew would never fade.
