Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce)

by Evans, Misty

  Leaving the sofa, she listened closely to the sounds outside. Shadows closed in around her as she tiptoed toward the kitchen, heading for the back door.

  Tires squealed at the end of the block. Soft light filtered through the kitchen window. No Thomas.

  Gripping the butt of the gun, she shimmied up to the window, staying out of sight and peeked at the yard and street. Taillights disappeared around the corner. Nothing else moved. No one’s here. Not anymore.

  And then, movement out of the corner of her eye. A man’s shadow crossed the yard, right under the window. Ronni jumped back, holding her breath, counting to three. She peaked out again.

  Definitely male…definitely moving around the perimeter. Definitely carrying one big-ass gun. The man was shirtless, his shoulders and well-defined back muscles rippling under the moonlight.

  Thomas?

  Ronni bolted for the door, threw it open. He was gone. What was he doing out there? Had the Cadillac returned?

  She’d heard the engine, seen the taillights. Truck, not car. “Thomas?” she called quietly into the night.

  Another shadow, low to the ground and moving fast skirted the bushes near the house. Her instincts had her gun up before her brain registered animal.

  “Ronni?”

  She spun at the sound of her name, gun aimed at the man easing out of the shadows on her right. He stilled, raising his hands. “Whoa, there, Agent Punto. Don’t shoot your partner.”

  Thomas.

  Relief.

  He’d changed into sweats and left off a shirt. Her gaze feasted on his chest and taut stomach. Slowly, she let the breath she’d been holding ease out. Lowered her gun. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  His eyes, dark and guarded, slid over her body, her gun. He lowered his hands, let his Beretta rest next to his thigh. “Stalking the neighbors, what else?”

  A flippant comment didn’t cover the fact he was still tense. On the ready. For what? “Who was in the truck?”

  He glanced at the street, back to her. “Let’s go inside.”

  Questions burned in her mind, but she kept quiet until they were inside the kitchen, door closed and locked. Thomas didn’t turn on any lights, didn’t say anything for a minute. Ronni waited…waited…waited.

  From the faint glow of light through the window, she could see the stillness of his body. See the tension tightening his face. His head was cocked, listening.

  Wait…was he listening or was he staring at her?

  She slowed her nervous breathing, listened to the night as well. An occasional traffic sound rose and fell in the distance. A light breeze rustled palm trees in the dividers between the streets.

  No startling noises, no sense of danger. At least not from outside.

  His eyes were shadowed circles in his face. She could feel his gaze on her. Hot, lingering.

  “You’re safe,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “The truck was an informant. Name’s Diego and he had dirt on a scumbag Cooper’s been chasing for weeks. It wasn’t Adam.”

  “Oh.” Why did that deep voice of his make her so nervous? Definitely watching me. “Does Diego always deliver intel at four in the morning?”

  “Guy works nights.” He laid his gun on the counter without taking his eyes off her. “How’d you sleep?”

  Sleep. Why did the word sound so sexy coming out of his mouth? Why did her fingers itch to touch his chest, trace the barely-there line of hair down his stomach and into his waistband? “Is there a reason we’re standing in the dark?”

  “Sounded like you had bad dreams.”

  She backtracked. Her breath caught. “Sounded like?”

  “You talk in your sleep. Must have been some nightmare.”

  “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

  His brows arched. “Your boyfriend never told you?”

  “Boyfriend?” A bead of sweat ran down her cleavage. “I don’t have a boyfriend and you know it. Stop playing games.”

  “I had to be sure.”

  “Of what?”

  “That you weren’t in a relationship.”

  No, there was no relationship. No boyfriend. No home or family. Just her past and her job with the Bureau. Her voice shivered in her throat as she forced herself to ask, “Why?”

  His answer was to step closer.

  He was right there, standing in front of her. Not touching her. Oh, no. He wouldn’t touch a cornered animal. A wounded animal. He knew there were boundaries. But he stepped close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. Those muscles…

  Her nipples tightened, the lacy bra under her shirt rubbed against the sensitive skin. Back away. She shouldn’t be this close to him. Her job, this case, everything depended on keeping her personal distance as well as professional. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Do this.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  Goose bumps rose on her skin. She was hungry for him and he knew it. Hungry for his touch. For this moment. Block the past. Don’t worry about the future. “Nothing can happen between us. I can’t…”

  The words hung in the air, waiting for her to finish the sentence. What exactly was it she couldn’t do? Give into the desires coursing through her body? Give him access to her secrets?

  She was a grown woman. A woman who’d lived a unique life and had, at one time, embraced her uniqueness. Now, she felt diminished. Like she had to keep things under wraps and not call attention to herself. Thomas would change that. He’d already given her back her confidence, made her feel needed again.

  “I’m not asking you for anything,” he said quietly.

  She chuckled under her breath. “Then why are you standing so close to me in the dark? Why is your voice low and soft and seductive?”

  He was hungry too. For her. For forgiveness. Could she give it to him?

  He brushed a hair back from her cheek. “Dangerous waters, here. Waters you make me want to tread.”

  The slightest touch of his fingers across her skin. The lingering of his gaze on her lips.

  I can’t. I can’t…I won’t. “I can’t give you what you want.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  Her eyes dropped to his naked chest, lower. She saw the rise of fabric under his sweatpants. Forced herself not to lick her lips. “Rule One: I don’t sleep with fellow agents.”

  “Of course not.” There was no mockery in his voice. No teasing. “We’re working a case. It would be unprofessional.”

  “Rule Two: I don’t obsess over the past. I live in the moment. You’re forgiven. That’s all I can give you, and that should be enough.”

  “Agreed.”

  Again, no sarcasm, no goading. Seduction by sincerity. Who knew it would be such a turn-on? “Stop being so nice.”

  “Twenty-four hours, remember? No teasing, joking, or anything else fun.” He ran a hand down her arm, touched her hand where it still gripped the Glock tightly. “Why are you shaking?”

  Shaking? She hadn’t noticed. Her whole body trembled anew from his touch and shivered in the dark. Left-overs from the nightmare? Diego’s visit? An approaching anxiety attack?

  Or the fact Thomas continued to invade her space?

  Shadows floated around them. In the faint light coming through the kitchen window, she could see each band of muscle running from his collarbone down. The bulge swelled prominently under the sweatpants. A heavy six-o’clock shadow graced his jawline.

  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Tried to find her voice.

  “Talk to me.” He scanned her face. “What’s scaring you right now?”

  Her pulse jumped. Everything. For half a second, she wanted him to stop being so damn concerned and just slam her up against the wall for quick and dirty sex. “I’m not scared,” she lied. “Just tired. I need sleep.”

  “Take my bed. I’ll hit the couch.”

  Still he didn’t move.

  “Is that what you want?” The words were out before she
could call them back. “Sleep?”

  His jaw worked. “I want you to trust me.”

  Trust. That fucking elusive thing.

  I do trust you. Just not with my heart. “Nothing personal. I have trust issues with everyone.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled, finally stepping back. He retrieved his gun and slipped it into the back waistband of the sweats. “The old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine. I get it.”

  Why did he have to analyze everything? “You make it sound like I’m breaking up with you.”

  “Hard to break up with someone you haven’t even kissed.”

  She wanted his heat back. His solid presence. Forget Des Moines. I want to forget the molehill and Adam and Peter Valquis for a few moments.

  She wanted—needed—to live in the now and forget the feelings of abandonment constantly humming under her skin. “I’ve kissed you.”

  “At the station? You call that a kiss?”

  Mocking? She was strung too tight to call him on it. “It was a damn good kiss.”

  A shrug. He walked away, heading for the living room. “If you say so.”

  How dare he criticize her and then walk out of the room? Dangerous waters, indeed. “Just a minute, Mann.”

  She followed, ready to read him the riot act. The living room was darker than the kitchen. Before she could get another word out, he grabbed her, brought her in close. His voice was edgy in her ear. The stubble on his cheek grazed the sensitive skin under her earlobe. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  The lust hit her, a sharp tingling of nerves. Her breasts pressed against his hard chest. She pushed back with one hand, her gun in the other, wishing instead that she could pull him in, cling to him. Feel his warm skin against hers.

  He thought she was holding out on him. Well, she was about some things. But she wasn’t about to be manhandled. “Let go.”

  “Is that what you want?” Slightly mocking again.

  I want to be held. “I was dreaming of Wrightsville.”

  He stilled, but didn’t turn her loose. “What?”

  “The nightmare.” His arms felt grounded, safe. I want to feel safe. “You wanted to know about my bad dream? That’s what it was about. The night of the siege.”

  Blood pounded in her ears. She could smell his clean scent, feel the rise and fall of his breathing. He started to open his mouth to console her or ask another question or whatever. She didn’t want to talk about the dreams. The fires. The tanks. Her mother’s screams….

  Shut. It. Down. “Now tell me what was wrong with my kiss.”

  A slow grin spread across his face. Her lips parted, his came down on them. Wet, demanding. Everything else ceased.

  Perfect.

  Live in the moment.

  She moaned into his mouth and slid her hand behind his head. She needed him closer. Tighter. He thought her first kiss at the police station was lacking? She’d show him…

  He lifted her off the ground and pushed her against the wall. Her mind balked, but her legs instinctively went around his waist. Her ankle met metal, cold and hard. His gun.

  His body slid against hers, hips grinding her into the wall even as his lips worked over her mouth. He smothered her face and neck with kisses.

  She gave him what he demanded, gave herself up to not thinking. Bucking her hips to egg him on, she kissed, sucked, and licked him back. Heat exploded between her legs and she loosened her hold around his waist slightly, opening herself even more to the solid thickness of him.

  He surged into her, but broke their kiss. “What do you want, Ronni? Really want? Tell me.”

  “You.” Her breath came in gasps. “With less clothes on.”

  He laughed and her body vibrated inside and out. “What about Rule One?”

  “Screw it. I want to forget, Thomas. All the…shit. Make me forget.”

  He nuzzled her ear, licked the lobe. “And what happens in the morning? When you have to work with me?”

  Damn him. Always analyzing. Always thinking.

  He knows me too well. She wouldn’t be able to look him the eye. She’d have to request a new partner. She’d have to make an excuse to Dupé and skip town. The FBI behavioral science unit was filled with people who understood cults and her brother. One of them could handle the case.

  Ronni tipped her head back, rested it on the wall. No. She wasn’t running away. She liked Dupé, knew her career would be wide open after working for him. She wanted this assignment and maybe another.

  And Adam was her responsibility. Hers and hers alone.

  She’d spent her entire life standing up for others. Saving those who couldn’t save themselves. She’d lived through pain and rejection before, and while she went on grieving silently for all the people she’d loved and lost, she wasn’t bailing on this assignment. Or Thomas.

  But old habits were hard to break. “I…I don’t know.”

  He nipped at her bottom lip, removed the gun from her hand, and set it on the bookcase next to them. “Trust me. I won’t let you down.”

  Trust had to be earned. So far, he’d scored some serious points in that column, but those would be wiped away if she slept with him. A relationship with him would test her mental and emotional stamina in a way nothing else had.

  Bring it on.

  Dropping her hand to the front of his sweatpants, she gave him a squeeze. God, he was huge. “Just make me forget, Thomas. For a few minutes, help me live in this moment.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thomas issued a tight sigh, grabbed Ronni by the wrist, and removed her hand from his crotch.

  What is wrong with me?

  He wanted to hang his head and pound a fist into the wall, but when she tried to go after him again, he pinned her wrist there instead. “It’s all or nothing, Punto. I know you’re scared and you’re hurting, but I don’t dole out fucks as substitutes for facing reality.”

  She released her legs, stared at him for a moment in shock. Then she slapped him with her free hand.

  The hit barely moved his head. Stung all the same. He rubbed his cheek, released her wrist, and stepped back. “Making you forget whatever’s eating you for an hour or so won’t solve our issues. I can’t kill your demons.”

  She sucked in air, shoved him backward. “Go to hell. I don’t need you to kill my demons, and this was your idea!”

  True fact. But he wanted more than a pity fuck. More than being used to help her forget her fears. Removing his gun from his waistband, he headed for his bedroom. “I’ll put some fresh sheets on the bed for you.”

  Of course, she followed him, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. “Don’t bother. I’m leaving.”

  He kept his back to her and rummaged in the hall closet for clean linens. “Running away?”

  “I don’t run away from anything.”

  Gotcha. He faced her. “Then don’t run away from me.”

  Her hands balled into fists. There was enough steam coming out of her ears, he thought she might actually stomp the floor. Her lips were swollen, her shirt askew from his advances. Hair sticking out in all directions. “Give me a reason not to.”

  Low blow. He could handle it. “I just did.”

  She thumbed at the living room. “That? A make-out session against the wall?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve had better.”

  Was she purposely being dense or was she goading him? “I doubt that, but what I was referring to was the fact that, although I’ve wanted to screw your brains out since Des Moines, I don’t want to fuck up our partnership now that you’re here.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, dropped her arms. Paced down the hallway, grabbed her gun, and paced back to him. Stopped. Seemed to make up her mind about something. “Look, I know you’re trying, and I appreciate it. That back there was unprofessional and not like me at all. I’m a hot mess right now and not many seasoned agents would willingly partner with me in my current situation. So…”

  She examined her gun, blew out a breath. “T
hank you.”

  “For the kiss or the reality check?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you teasing?”

  “No, my sweet potato. Sun’s not up yet.”

  “We agreed no teasing, joking, etc., for twenty-four hours.”

  He grinned, headed to his bedroom. “Stop trying to change the subject and admit that kiss knocked your socks off.”

  She padded in behind him. “You don’t have to change the sheets. I’m too wired to sleep now.”

  That made two of them. “It’s not even five a.m. What do you suggest?”

  “Show me your movie collection?”

  Good sign. She was trying now, too. “You sure?”

  “Got anything funny?”

  “Every John Hughes movie ever made.”

  “Those are tragedies, not comedies.” She saw his look of mock horror, and added, “Kidding. John Hughes it is.”

  A couple hours later, Molly Ringwald was pretty in pink and Ronni was fast asleep, her head on his shoulder. He listened to her steady, even breathing. Wondered if she’d have another nightmare. He’d be right beside her if she did.

  Gently, he rubbed one of her hair ringlets between his finger and thumb. She was beautiful, smart, funny when she wanted to be, and determined. All the qualities he liked in a woman. And damn, if she wasn’t fire on a stick. His groin tightened just thinking about their earlier escapade.

  But she was a ball buster. He should have fucked her and gotten it out of his system. Gotten it out of both of their systems. But he knew if it had gone farther, their working relationship, already tenuous, would have been destroyed.

  And he would have still wanted more.

  Next to him, she sighed and curled into him. She was warm and soft in the right places, giving his imagination plenty of fodder. Definitely going to be a challenge. The type he hadn’t had in a good, long while.

  He valued her as a partner in the field as well as a friend. No blowing that. Working with her forced him out of his rut, out of the undercover world of gunrunning and drug smugglers. This cult thing was new—if they ever got inside—and he needed a change of pace.

  The taskforce was his life and vice work kept him on his toes, but burnout was a real possibility. This assignment with Ronni was just what he needed. A fresh operation with a new partner.