Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating

by Suzanne Brockmann

  He cursed as he tied her, choosing words he couldn’t remember using in years, and she was trying to get free, kicking and wriggling beneath him like a wild woman.

  Her torn-off shirt rode up, exposing the pale smoothness of her back and making him feel like a total degenerate. How could this possibly turn him on?

  But this was just a game. He wasn’t trying to hurt her—in fact, he was trying to do the opposite. He was tying her up using knots that she’d be able to slip out of. He was taking care that the roughness of the rope didn’t abrade the soft skin of her wrists.

  It was the sight and feel of Nell beneath him on a bed, his body pressed against hers, that was making him heat up. It wasn’t the ropes or the struggle—that wasn’t real. But Nell was real. Dear God, she was incredibly real.

  He grabbed another rope from his bag and tied her feet, also with slipknots, aware that Sheldon Sarkowski was watching, disgust in his eyes.

  He lifted Nell up, depositing her on the floor as gently as he could while making it look to Sarkowski as if he’d damn near thrown her there.

  As she said she would, she immediately began wriggling, rolling all the way under the bed. She was smart—she didn’t leave a leg or a foot sticking out for him to grab. He had to lift up the dust ruffle and crawl halfway under himself just to pull her out.

  There, just where she said it was, was a thin plastic baggie, closed with a twist-tie like a little balloon, filled both with air and tomato juice, ready to be popped. Of all the absurd ideas he’d ever tried, this one had to take the cake.

  Nell had rolled onto her back, and he grabbed the baggie, careful not to pop it, and thrust it up, underneath her shirt. He hooked part of the loose plastic around the front clasp of her bra, trying to ignore the sensation of his fingers brushing against her smooth, warm skin. God, why was he doing this?

  Because there was a .001 percent chance that it would work. As ridiculous as it was, it could work. People often saw what they expected to see, and as long as Sarkowski didn’t have too acute a sense of smell, he wouldn’t see tomato juice spilling out onto Nell’s shirt, he’d see blood.

  Crash hauled Nell out from under the bed, making it look as if he’d hit her hard enough across the face to make her lie still, dazed from the blow.

  He stood up then, straightening his combat vest and quickly running his fingers through his hair, putting himself back into order. He drew his weapon from his holster, and sat down across from Sarkowski as if none of that had happened.

  “I want the commander’s name,” Crash said, “and I want it now. My patience is gone.”

  “Sorry, pal.” Sarkowski shook his head. “The best I can do for you is to pass along your message about the two hundred and fifty thousand. But you’re not dealing from a position of strength here. Unless you can guarantee the girl’s silence as well as your own, my employer isn’t going to consider paying that price.”

  “I can guarantee the girl’s silence.”

  The gunman laughed derisively. “Yeah, right.”

  Crash didn’t blink. He didn’t move a muscle in his face. He simply turned and discharged his weapon, aiming directly at Nell’s chest.

  She rolled back, as if from the force of the bullet, and then feel forward. She struggled briefly against the ropes that held her and then was still.

  Crash took a deep breath, but all he could smell was the pizza—its box left open on the top of the TV set.

  He watched Sarkowski’s face as a red stain slowly appeared from beneath Nell’s body. The gunman had lifted his heavy eyelids higher than usual, and when he turned to look at Crash, there was wariness in his eyes.

  Crash set his weapon in his lap, the barrel pointed casually in the other man’s direction. “I want to know the commander’s name,” he said again. “Now.”

  Sarkowski was searching his eyes for any sign of remorse, any hint of emotion, and Crash purposely kept his face devoid of expression, his eyes flat and cold and filled with absolutely nothing. From the gunman’s perspective, he had no heart, no soul—and absolutely no problem with doubling the current body count.

  “Kill me and you’ve got nothing,” Sarkowski blustered. “You’ll never know who I work for then.”

  But he spoke a little too quickly, his anxiety giving a little too much of an edge to his voice.

  “That would only be a temporary problem,” Crash pointed out. “I’d just have to wait for the commander to send someone else after me. Chances are that guy will talk. And if not him, then maybe the next. It doesn’t matter to me. Time’s one thing I’ve got plenty of.” He lifted his weapon with the same kind of blasé casualness that he’d pointed it at Nell and aimed directly at Sarkowski’s forehead.

  “Wait,” Sarkowski said. “I think we can make some kind of a deal.”

  Jackpot.

  Nell didn’t move. Crash couldn’t even tell that she was breathing, but he knew that she was smiling.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE MOTEL WINDOW WAS DARK as Crash pulled back into the parking lot.

  A string of blinking Christmas lights had slipped from the edge of the roof, drooping pathetically across the front of the motel. The artificial tree visible through the lobby window listed to the left, its branches sagging under the weight of garish decorations.

  Christmas was a grim undertaking here at this fleabag motel in the middle of nowhere. The festive trappings had all been brought out, but there was nothing merry about them. There was no hope, just resignation. Another season of bills that couldn’t be paid and dreams that couldn’t come true.

  Somehow it all seemed appropriate.

  Crash was exhausted. It had taken him longer than he’d hoped to find another motel in which to deposit Sheldon Sarkowski.

  He’d planned to take Sarkowski out to the state park and leave him locked in the men’s room, but the two men had made a deal of sorts. Sheldon had been bought by the promise of a cut of the blackmail money and the hope that if he gave up his employer’s name, Crash wouldn’t kill him.

  The deal was bogus, of course. Crash had no intention of taking any money from the commander who had engineered Jake Robinson’s death. His goal was still—and had always been—justice.

  But Sheldon thought they were a team now. And team members didn’t lock other team members in a freezing-cold men’s room. Instead, Crash had taken the highway, going nearly twenty miles back in the direction they’d come before finding another appropriately ancient motel. And once inside, he’d handcuffed Sheldon to the radiator in the bathroom. He’d even apologized before tapping him on the side of the head with the butt of his handgun.

  His apology was accepted. Sheldon would have done the very same thing to him. They were supposed to be teammates now, but unlike members of a SEAL Team, they didn’t fully trust each other.

  And Sheldon Sarkowski—or whoever he really was—was the last person Crash ever would have trusted. The man liked his work way too much. Just from the short conversations they’d had, Crash knew Sheldon enjoyed pulling the trigger and delivering death. He’d volunteered to get rid of Nell’s body and Crash got the sense that the offer was made not so much to help Crash, but for the pleasure doing so would give Sheldon.

  The thought of Sheldon touching Nell was enough to make Crash’s skin crawl.

  He fought a wave of fatigue as he unlocked the door to the first motel room. He didn’t have time to be tired. It was probably true that Sarkowski wouldn’t be found by the maid until morning, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He’d wake up Nell and they were going to get back on the road.

  She would be shocked to find out that she’d danced with the man responsible for this entire fiasco at Jake and Daisy’s wedding. Senator—and retired U.S. Navy Commander—Mark Garvin was the man they were after.

  There were no lights on at all in the room. Nell had no doubt showered and climbed into bed by now. God help him, he was going to have to stare down temptation and pull her out of bed rather than climb in with her
, the way he so desperately wanted to and—

  Nell hadn’t moved. In the darkness, Crash could see her, still lying on the floor where he’d left her.

  Dear Lord, the bullet he’d fired at her had been a blank, hadn’t it? He’d double-checked and triple-checked it. But God knew he was exhausted. And when men were exhausted, they made mistakes.

  He slapped the light switch on the wall and the dim light only verified what he already knew. Nell was lying on the floor, hands still tied behind her back, eyes closed, almost exactly the way he’d left her.

  Crash’s chest was tight with fear, and his throat was clogged with the closest thing to panic he’d ever felt in his life as he crossed toward her.

  “Nell!” She still didn’t move.

  He knelt next to her and pulled her into his arms, tearing at her clothes, praying that the sticky redness was indeed the result of the tomato juice they’d picked up at the convenience store, praying that he wasn’t going to find some awful, mortal wound beneath the stained fabric.

  Buttons flew everywhere as he ripped her shirt open. He swept his hands across the smoothness of her skin and looked down in her eyes, which were now opened very, very wide.

  She was all right. The blood wasn’t blood after all, the bullet he’d fired had been a blank. Relief made him so dizzy he nearly lost his balance.

  But he wasn’t too dizzy to realize that his hand was still on her chest, his fingers against her delicate collarbone, his wrist between her lace-covered breasts.

  She was in his arms, her face inches from his, her shirt torn and stained, her hands and feet still tied.

  Nell cleared her throat. “Well, this is quite the little fantasy come true.”

  Crash moved his hand, but then didn’t quite know where to put it. “Are you all right? When I saw you still lying here, I thought…”

  “I couldn’t get free.”

  “I purposely used slipknots to tie you.”

  “I tried,” she admitted, “but they just seemed to get tighter.”

  “You’re not supposed to pull at them.” He helped her up into a sitting position and swiftly used his knife to cut her hands free. “You’re suppose to finesse them. Pulling just tightens them.”

  “So much for my lifelong dream of becoming an escape artist.”

  Crash’s ribs hurt as he cut her feet free, and he realized that she had made him laugh. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but she had turned away from him, as if suddenly self-conscious that her torn shirt was hanging open, all its buttons neatly removed.

  She rubbed her wrists. “Damn—that tomato juice stings!”

  “It’s acidic. Come here.”

  Nell let him help her up and lead her to the set of double sinks right outside the bathroom door. He turned on the water and she held her wrists under the flow as he turned on the light.

  “I’m sorry about this.” His hands were so gentle as he lifted her hands to look at her rope burns.

  She looked up at him. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then it’s worth it.”

  His gaze flickered down to the open front of her shirt. “You better take a shower. I’ll find you something clean to wear.”

  He was still touching her, still holding her hands. Nell knew that it was now or never—and she couldn’t bear for it to be never. Not without trying one more time.

  She reached out and touched the edge of the front pocket of his pants. In his haste to make sure she was all right, he’d knelt in the puddle of tomato juice. “You look like you could use a shower yourself,” she said softly. “And I could use a little company.”

  Crash didn’t move. For a minute, she wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing. But the sudden rush of heat in his eyes left her little doubt. The sexual tension she’d felt building over the past few days was not a figment of her imagination. He felt it, too. He suffered from it, too. Thank God.

  “That was your big cue,” she prompted him. “That was where you were supposed to kiss me and pull me with you into the shower.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked hoarsely. “What do you want? Why did you even come to the jail?”

  Nell knew she should break the spell by saying something funny, something flip. But in a flash of clarity, she realized that she used humor to maintain a distance—much in the same way that Crash separated from his emotions. So she didn’t make a joke. She told him the truth.

  “I want to help you prove your innocence. You once told me that I didn’t really know you, but you were wrong.” She held his gaze, daring him to look away, to step away, to pull away from her. “I do know you, Billy. My heart knows you. Even though your heart doesn’t seem to want to recognize me.”

  He touched the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek into his palm, daring to hope that he felt even a fraction of what she did.

  “So that’s why you’re here,” he whispered. “To try to save me.”

  “I’m here because you need me.” Nell opened her eyes and let slip another dangerous truth. “And because I need you.”

  He was looking at her, and she could see everything he was feeling mirrored in his eyes. For once, he wasn’t trying to hide from her. Or from himself.

  “I want you,” she told him softly. “All these months, and I still haven’t stopped wanting you. I dream about your kisses.” She smiled crookedly. “I’ve been sleeping a lot lately.”

  Crash kissed her then.

  It was so different from that night after Daisy’s funeral, where one minute he was looking at her and the next he was inhaling her. It was different, because this was a kiss that she actually saw coming.

  She saw it in his eyes first, in the way his gaze dropped to her mouth for just a fraction of a second. And she saw it in the way his pupils seemed to expand, just a little. Then he leaned toward her, slowly, as his hand tilted her chin up. And then his mouth met hers, softly, sweetly.

  He tasted like tomato juice.

  He deepened the kiss, pulling her gently toward him, and Nell felt herself melt, felt her pulse kick into double time, felt her heart damn near burst out of her chest. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was why she had never invited Dex Lancaster inside after a dinner date.

  She’d tried to deny it so many different times. It wasn’t pure attraction and simple sex. It wasn’t friendship, either. It wasn’t anything she’d ever felt before.

  She loved his man. Completely. Absolutely. Forever.

  “Nell.” He was breathing hard as he pulled back slightly to look at her. “I want you, too, but…” He took a breath and let it out quickly. “We shouldn’t do this. Bottom line—nothing’s changed between us.” He laughed. “Truth is, it’s gotten even more impossible. I can’t give you—”

  She stopped his words with a kiss. “Honesty’s all I need. I know exactly what you can’t give me and I’m not asking for that. All I want is another night with you.” She knew he didn’t love her, but she told herself she didn’t need him to love her. And she didn’t need false promises of forever, either. She just wanted this moment. She kissed him again. “I can’t think of anything I want more than to spend tonight in your arms.”

  She watched his eyes, holding her breath, praying he wouldn’t turn away, knowing that she was risking so much by telling him this.

  He touched her face again, the edges of his mouth twisting up into what could almost be called a smile. “You’re looking at me like you don’t have a clue what I’m going to do next,” he said perceptively. He softly traced her lower lip with his thumb. “You don’t really think I’m strong enough to hear you say all that, then walk away, do you?”

  Nell’s breath caught in her throat. “I think you’re the most remarkable man I’ve ever met, and you’re right. I never have a clue what you’re going to do next.”

  “Tonight I’m going to be selfish,” he said quietly.

  He kissed her slowly, completely. It was a kiss that promised
her all of the passion of their first joining and even more. She clung to him, breathless and dizzy and giddy with desire, barely aware as he pulled her with him into the tiny bathroom.

  They’d stood right here just hours ago.

  Nothing had changed, Crash had said. But everything had changed. Two hours ago she’d had her hands in her pockets to keep from touching him. Now those same hands were unfastening the buckle of his belt, even as his hands helped her out of her own clothes.

  She was covered with tomato juice and he stepped into the tub, pulling her with him, and turned on the water, rinsing her clean.

  He washed her so slowly, so carefully, stopping to give her deliciously long, exquisitely sweet kisses that made her weak-kneed with desire. She could feel his arousal, hot and hard against her, and she opened herself to him, winding one leg around him in an attempt to pull him even closer.

  He’d taken a foil-wrapped condom from his vest and tossed it into the soap-holder as they’d stepped into the shower. He opened it now, covering himself.

  She kissed him again and he groaned, pulling her up, lifting her, pressing her back against the cool tile wall as he filled her.

  It was heaven. The water raining down from the shower seemed to caress her sensitized body as he kissed her, touched her, claimed her so completely.

  She was moments from release when he pulled back, breaking their kiss to gaze down at her. His gaze was hot, his breathing ragged. “I want to make love to you in a bed,” he told her. “I want to look at you and touch you and taste every inch of you. I want to take my time and be absolutely certain that you’re satisfied.”

  She pushed herself more deeply on top of him. “I’m satisfied,” she told him. She was already more satisfied than she’d thought she’d be ever again. “Although the bed thing sounds really nice. Maybe we can do that later.”

  “We don’t have time. We have to leave,” he told her.

  Nell opened her eyes. “Now?”

  “Soon.” He kissed her. “I’m sorry. I should have told you right when I came in.”