The Fink sources had been wrong—the tango showed up five days early, leaving McCoy and Cowboy pinned down in the bushes next to the front door and directly beneath the living-room window. They’d been trapped between the house and the brightly lit driveway, hidden by the shadow of the foliage but unable to move without immediate detection from the teams of security guards and professional soldiers that constantly patrolled the premises.
They’d lain on their bellies for three and a half days, counting soldiers and guards and listening to conversations auf deutsch and in various Arabic dialects from the living room. They’d relayed all the information to Joe Cat over their radio headsets and they’d waited—and waited and waited—for Alpha Squad to be given permission to apprehend the terrorists and to liberate McCoy’s and Cowboy’s butts.
He’d come away from that little exercise smelling really bad and hungry beyond belief, but knowing that he could outwait damn near anything.
Melody Evans didn’t know it, but she didn’t stand a chance.
CHAPTER TEN
MELODY WOKE UP, aware that her afternoon nap had stretched on far past the late afternoon. It was dark in her room and dark outside, as well. Her alarm clock read 11:14 p.m.
Someone had come into her room while she was asleep and covered her with a blanket. But that someone couldn’t have been her sister, who had been called away to the hospital before Melody had gone up for a nap, and who, from the obvious emptiness of Britt’s room and the quietness of the house, had not yet returned home.
Melody glanced out the window at the tent in the backyard. It was dark. No doubt Jones had gone to sleep himself after he’d tucked her in.
Either that, or it had been Andy. The boy had been spending a great deal of time over at their house, working—or playing—with Britt on her computer. In the week since Jones had done his “tough love” Intro to Drinking 101 session, Andy had been acting less like a twenty-three-year-old ex-con and more like a twelve-year-old boy.
He and Brittany had really hit it off—which was good for both of them. Ever since Britt’s divorce, she’d been more likely to focus on the negative instead of the positive. But when Andy was around, Melody heard far more of her sister’s musical laughter.
Oh, Britt complained about him. Crumbs around the computer. Dishes left out on the kitchen table. But she gave the kid his own screen name on her computer account and let him use it even while she was doing the evening or night shift at work. He was a nice kid, despite his bad reputation. He had a natural charm and a genuine sense of humor. But there was no way he would’ve left Britt’s computer long enough to come upstairs and throw a blanket over her. It had to have been Jones who’d done that.
In the past week, he’d been up every morning, sitting in the kitchen while she’d had her breakfast before going to work. After watching her halfheartedly eat dry toast for several days in a row, he’d actually cooked her bacon, eggs, pancakes and oatmeal in the hopes that one of those foods would be something that she would want.
He’d been waiting when she’d returned home from work, as well. She’d gotten into the habit of sitting on the front porch with him, talking quietly and watching the setting sun turn the brilliant autumn leaves even more vivid shades of red and orange.
Jones was always around for dinner, too. Just like Andy, he’d managed to totally charm Brittany. And as for Melody, well, she was getting used to him smiling at her from across the kitchen table.
She was waiting for him to kiss her again—the way he’d done out in front of the library. But as if he sensed her trepidation, he was keeping his distance, giving her plenty of space.
But more often than not, when their eyes met, there was a heart-stoppingly hot spark, and Jones’s gaze would linger on her mouth. His message was very clear. He wanted to kiss her again and he wanted to make sure that she knew it.
The thought of Jones up in her room, covering her with a blanket and watching her as she slept was a disconcerting one, and she tried to push it far away. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about Jones at all. She focused instead on her hunger as she went downstairs to the kitchen. She was, as they said in Boston, wicked hungry.
Melody nibbled on a soda cracker as she searched the refrigerator, then the pantry, for something, anything to eat. With the flu still running rampant through the nursing staff at the hospital, Brittany hadn’t had time to pick up groceries. There was nothing in the house to eat. Correction—nothing Melody wanted to eat.
She would’ve gone shopping herself, but Britt had made her promise under pain of death that she wouldn’t try to wrestle both the shopping cart and the crowds at the Stop and Shop until after the baby was born.
Of course, if Britt had her way, Melody would spend the next few months in bed. And from the way he’d been talking last week outside the library, Jones was of the same mind-set. But he wanted her to stay in bed for an entirely different reason.
Melody couldn’t quite believe that his motive was pure passion. She wasn’t exactly looking her sexiest these days—unless, of course, one was turned on by a pumpkin. Andy’s words, “fat and funny-looking,” sprang immediately and quite accurately to mind. No, she had to believe that Jones wanted her in bed only because he knew that once he got her there, he’d be that much closer to his goal of marrying her.
For the baby’s sake.
With a sigh, she took her jacket from the hook by the door, checking to make sure her car keys and her wallet were in the pockets. Brittany may have made the supermarket off-limits, but the convenience store up by the highway was fair game.
Maybe if Melody wandered through the aisles she’d see something she actually wanted to eat—something besides an entire sleeve of chocolate chip cookies, that is.
She unlocked the door and stepped out onto the porch, nearly colliding with Jones. He caught her with both arms, holding her tightly against him to keep them both from falling down the stairs.
His body was warm and his hair was disheveled as if he, too, had just woken up. She’d seen him look exactly like this in Paris. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d slowly awakened underneath warm covers, opening her eyes to see his lazy smile and sleepy green eyes.
Time had lost all meaning back then. They’d slept when they were tired, eaten when they were hungry and made love the rest of the time. Sometimes when they woke, it was in the dark hours of the early morning. Sometimes the warm light of the afternoon sun slipped in beneath the curtains.
But it never mattered. The rest of the world had ceased to exist. What was important was right there, in that room, in that bed.
“I saw the light go on,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep, his drawl more pronounced. “I thought I’d come over, make sure you were okay.”
“I’m okay.” Melody stepped back, and he let her go. The night air had a crisp chill to it, and she missed his warmth almost immediately. “I’m hungry, though. I’m making a run to the criminal.”
He blinked. “You’re…what?”
She started down the steps. “Going to the Honey Farms—the convenience store on Connecticut Road.”
Jones followed her. “Yeah. But…what did you call it?”
“The criminal. You know, because the prices they charge are criminal.”
He laughed, genuine amusement in his voice. “Cool. I like that. The criminal.”
Melody couldn’t help but smile. “Boy, it doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it, Jones?”
“No, ma’am. And right now it would make me downright ecstatic to go to the criminal for you. Just hand me the keys to your car, tell me what you want and I’ll have it back here for you inside ten minutes.”
Melody looked around. “Where’s your car?”
“It was, um, getting costly to keep a rental car for all this time.” He fished a ponytail holder out of the front pocket of his jeans. Raking his hair into some semblance of order with his fingers, he tied it back at the nape of his neck.
“I returned it about a week and a half ago.”
“God, and I didn’t even notice.”
Jones held out his hand. “Come on. Give me the keys and your dinner order.”
She stepped past him, heading toward her car. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t know what I want. I was intending to go and browse.”
“Do you mind if I come along?”
“No,” Melody said, surprised that it was true. “I don’t mind.”
She opened the front door of her car, but he moved to block her way. “How about I drive?”
“Do you know how to drive a stick shift?”
Jones just looked at her.
“Right,” she said, handing him the keys. “Navy SEAL. God, can you believe I almost forgot? If you can fly a plane, you can certainly handle my car, as particular as it is.”
It was much easier getting in the passenger side without the steering wheel in her way. Jones waited to start the engine until after she closed the door behind her and fastened her seat belt.
“The clutch can be really temperamental,” she started to say, but stopped when he gave her another pointed look.
But he smiled then, and she found herself smiling, too. She always found herself smiling when he was around.
Jones managed to get the car down the driveway and onto the main road without stalling, without even hiccuping. He drove easily, comfortably, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on the gearshift. He had nice hands. They were strong and capable-looking, just like the man himself.
“I was thinking,” he said, finally breaking the silence as they approached the store, “that tomorrow might be a good day to put your garden to bed for the winter. It’s supposed to be in the high fifties and sunny.” He glanced at her. “I could help you do it after church, if you want.”
Melody didn’t know what to say.
“I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a gardener. I’m not really sure what needs to be done.” He cleared his throat. “I figure the best way to do the job is for me to act as your hands and back. You tell me what to do, what to lift, what to carry, and I’ll do it for you.”
There was only one other car in the convenience-store parking lot and it was idling over by the telephones. Jones slid Melody’s car neatly into one of the spots near the doors and turned off the engine. But he shifted slightly to face her rather than climb out.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Melody looked into his eyes and smiled. “I think you heard about the charity apple picking that’s going on up at Hetterman’s Orchards tomorrow after church, and you want to make sure you have a really good reason not to go.”
Jones laughed. “No, I haven’t heard anything about anything. What’s the deal? Apple picking?”
“Hetterman’s has always had a problem hiring temporary help to pick the last of the apples. It’s a self-service farm, and people come out from the city all season long to pick their own apples, but there’s always a lot left over. About seven years ago, they made a deal with one of the local Girl Scout troops. If the girls could get twenty people to come out and pick apples for a day, Hetterman’s promised to award one of the high school kids a five-hundred-dollar scholarship. Well, the girls outdid themselves. They got a hundred people to come and got the job done in about three hours instead of an entire day. And in the seven years since then, it’s become a town tradition. Last year, four hundred people turned out for the event, and they finished in less than two hours. And the five hundred dollars from Hetterman’s has been matched by Glenzen Brothers Hardware, the Congregational Church, The First City Bank and a handful of private benefactors, making the scholarship a full five thousand dollars.”
She laughed at herself. “Listen to me. I sound like such a Pollyanna. I can’t help it, though. The thought of all those people working together like that for such a good cause just makes me all goose bumpy and shivery. I know, I know, I’m a sap.”
“No, you’re not.” Jones was smiling at her very slightly. “I think it’s cool, too. It’s real teamwork in action.” He was watching her closely, paying careful attention, as if what she had told him was the most important piece of news in the universe. Being the center of the tight focus of all his intensity was somewhat overwhelming, though.
The yellowish parking-lot lamps shone dimly through the car windows, creating intricate patterns of shadow and light on the dashboard. It was quiet and far too intimate. She should get out of the car. She knew she should.
“This year, they’re trying to get six hundred people to participate and do the whole thing in under an hour. They want to try to set a record.”
He reached forward to play with one of her curls. Touching but not touching. “Then we better plan to show up, huh?”
Melody laughed, gently pulling her hair free from his grasp, trying to break the mood, knowing that she had to. She had no choice. If she didn’t do something, it wasn’t going to be long before he leaned over and kissed her. “Somehow I just can’t see you spending even half an hour picking apples.” She unfastened her seat belt, but Jones still made no move to get out of the car.
“Why not?”
“Get serious, Jones.”
“I am serious. It sounds like fun. Serious fun.”
“Apple picking isn’t exactly your speed.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t know anything about that,” he drawled, “but I do know all about working in a team, and it sounds as if this is one team I’d be proud to be a part of.”
Melody got out of the car, fast. She had to, or else she was going to do something really stupid—like kiss him.
But he must’ve been able to read her mind because he followed and caught her hand before she even reached the convenience-store door.
“Come on,” he said, his eyes daring her to take a chance. “Let’s make this a plan. We’ll do the apple-picking thing, have lunch, then come home and tackle the garden.” He smiled. “And then in the evening, if you’re feeling really adventurous, we can take a walk down at the Audubon Bird Refuge.”
Melody laughed, and Jones leaned forward and kissed her.
She knew exactly what he was doing, what he had been doing over the past week. He was wearing her down little by little, piece by piece. He was actively trying to make her fall in love with him. He was taking everything really slowly. He was making a point to be extraordinarily gentle.
Except this was no languorous, gentle kiss. This time, he took her by storm, claiming her mouth with a hunger that stole her breath away. She could taste his passion along with the sweet mint toothpaste he must’ve used right before he came out of his tent to meet her.
She could feel his hands in her hair, on her back, sliding down to cup the soft fullness of her rear end. He’d held her that way in Paris, pressing her tightly against him so that she would be sure to feel the evidence of his arousal, nestled tightly between them.
But the only thing nestled between them now was her watermelon-sized stomach.
She heard him half growl, half laugh with frustration. “Making love to you is going to be really interesting. We’re going to have to get kind of creative, aren’t we?”
Melody could feel her heart pounding. She was breathing hard as she looked up into his eyes, but she couldn’t seem to pull away. She didn’t want to pull away. She actually wanted him to take her home and kiss her that way again. She wanted to make love to him. God, she was weak. He’d broken down her defenses in just a little over fourteen days. But maybe she had been crazy ever to think she could resist this man.
But instead of pulling her back toward the car, Jones reached for the criminal door. “Let’s get what we came for.”
He stood back to let her go through first.
Melody reached up to touch her lips as she went into the store. That kiss had been so scalding it should, by all rights, have marked her. But as far as she could tell, her lips were still attached.
The overhead lights were glaring compared to the dim
parking lot, and she squinted slightly as she looked around the depressingly bleak little store.
Isaac Forte was clerking tonight. He always handled the night shift—which seemed appropriate. With his pale, gaunt face and painfully thin, almost skeletal frame, he reminded her of a vampire. If daylight ever actually came in contact with him, no doubt he would crumble into dust. But she, too, had become a creature of the night over the past few months. And her odd cravings had made her a frequent customer of the Honey Farms, so she’d come to know Isaac rather well. He had his problems, but having to drink human blood to stay alive wasn’t one of them, thank goodness.
“Hi, Isaac,” she said.
Two men in black jackets were at the checkout counter. Isaac was waiting on them and—
Jones moved so fast he was almost a total blur.
He kicked, and something went flying to the other side of the room. A gun. One of these men had had a gun, and Jones had disarmed him, knocking it out of reach before Melody had barely even noticed it.
“Get out of here!” he shouted as he slammed one of the men down onto the floor, forcing the one to trip up the other.
The first man was dazed, but the second scrambled away, trying to reach the fallen gun. Melody could see it, gleaming and deadly, on the floor in front of the popcorn and corn chips. “Melody, dammit, go!” Jones bellowed even as he grabbed for the second man, his hand closing around the leather of the thug’s jacket.
He was talking to her. He wanted her to get to safety.
A rack of paperback books crashed to the floor as the man furiously fought to get free, to reach the gun. Melody watched, hypnotized with icy fear, as Jones fought just as hard to hang on, not even stopping for a second as he placed a well-aimed kick behind him that dropped the first man, the dazed man, to the floor with a final-sounding thud.
There was nothing even remotely fair about this wrestling match. No rules were being followed, no courtesies allowed, no time-outs granted. Jones slammed the gunman’s head against the floor even as the man continued his own barrage of blows. Elbows, knees, hands, feet—it was meant to drive Jones back, but the SEAL was unstoppable. He just kept on coming.
Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating Page 92
