The Call of Bravery

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Let me turn on the light,” she said. The memory of their other encounter in the dark hall was too vivid. He let her go, and she went to her bedside to switch on the lamp.

  She felt a shock when she saw Conall wearing only jeans, zipped but unsnapped. He must have left his T-shirt in the bathroom laundry hamper. His bare chest was all male—hard muscles and dark hair in a triangle like a kite with a tail that disappeared inside the denim of his jeans. He took her breath away.

  His darkened eyes swept over her, making her painfully aware of her skimpy attire, only flannel boxer shorts and a well-worn tank top. She’d never thought of them as sexy before.

  “Sorrel?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Oh, um.” Her mind was astonishingly blank. Remembering who Sorrel was took an embarrassing moment. “She was sexually molested.”

  He went very still, but his expression didn’t change. “Yeah,” he said after a minute. “I thought it was something like that.”

  “I shouldn’t tell you more than that. I really need to keep the kids’ problems confidential.”

  “That’s okay.” His voice was a gentle rumble. “I understand.”

  “She hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks that I’m aware of. She had a counseling session yesterday.” He nodded; she’d left the boys with him when she went to pick Sorrel up. “Maybe whatever they talked about triggered this.”

  Conall took a long stride closer to her. Lia crossed her arms in self-defense and he stopped.

  “Lia?”

  Oh, dear Lord, don’t let me do something stupid.

  She was breathing in quick gusts. She couldn’t look away from Conall. Those eyes, so dark a charcoal right now they might have been black. His hair, coarse and ruffled and wavy, droplets of water clinging here and there. The shadow of a beard on his jaw, the hollow at the base of his throat, his utter self-containment. His whole, big body had remained still, waiting, rigid with tension.

  It seemed the Lord wasn’t listening right now, or the temptation was too great. Lia wanted this man more than she’d wanted anything in her whole life.

  She let her hands drop to her sides. Took a step herself and saw him break.

  The next second he’d crushed her in his arms and his mouth devoured hers.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LIA HAD NEVER felt anything like this. All patience deserted her, replaced by urgency so huge and overwhelming, she was ready for him now. She kissed him with fervor that was probably clumsy, it had been so long since she’d done even this much with a man. She rose on tiptoe and strained against him. Her arms locked around his neck, and she had the heady pleasure of plunging her fingers into his hair, finally feeling the springy coarse-textured silk.

  There was no tenderness in this kiss, only need. His tongue established a hard, driving rhythm interrupted only by sharp nips on her lower lip. She returned them, and followed his tongue into his mouth with her own.

  She was trying to climb him, she should have been embarrassed to realize, but any ability to feel shame had been supplanted by this all-consuming want.

  When the back of her legs hit the bed, she realized Conall had walked her the few steps. “Yes,” she whispered, and moved her open mouth over his jaw and down his throat.

  He groaned and peeled off her tank top then looked at her. Dark color ran over his cheekbones and he made a sound deep in his throat.

  “You’re beautiful. So beautiful.”

  Lia slid her hands over his strong chest. “You are, too,” she whispered.

  With something like a laugh, he lifted her and dropped her on the bed, coming down over her with one knee planted between her thighs. His mouth settled on her breast. As when he’d kissed her, he didn’t bother with preliminaries. He suckled her deep and hard, and she gripped his head to keep him where he was. He had to fight briefly to switch to her other breast. Lia pushed her hips up, almost but not quite satisfied to press against the powerful thigh she straddled.

  Eventually that wasn’t enough. She moved her hand over the hard bulge beneath his jeans, loving the growl that escaped him. The zipper was stubborn; while she worked it lower he sucked in his belly and lifted his head to look at her face.

  His was transformed by passion. It was as if the skin had tightened over the angular bone structure, erasing some of the care-worn lines, deepening others. His mouth was sensual, hard, his eyes lit by a molten glow that matched how he made her feel inside.

  He jerked when, at last, she was able to lay her hand on his erection, stroking, gripping, savoring the astonishing pleasure of finally touching him.

  She was shocked when he wrenched himself back.

  “Don’t move,” he said in a low, harsh voice. “I’ve got to go get a condom. Unless you have some…?”

  Lia shook her head.

  “Stay.”

  He muttered under his breath when he left her bedroom, swearing, she thought. Oh, heavens—he was trying to pull up his zipper. Lia was giggling when he returned, which earned her a dark look.

  Conall shut the door, which was when she realized it had been standing open the entire time they were kissing and stripping each other. Would she have even heard one of the kids getting up?

  He hadn’t quite managed the zipper, she saw when her gaze lowered. Conall glanced down, his expression momentarily rueful. “I’ll keep some of these in your bedroom from now on,” he muttered, dropping a handful of packets on her bedside table.

  From now on? Splayed wantonly on her bed, Lia knew that he meant to come to her bed every night, and she was glad. Fiercely glad.

  Every night until he had to leave.

  I won’t regret this. I won’t.

  “You have amazing legs,” he whispered. “I watch you all the time, you know.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  Conall wrapped his hands around her feet and gently squeezed, then worked his way upward, stroking and kneading. Lia whimpered.

  “Can we…not go slow? This time?”

  He didn’t answer with words. Instead he tore her shorts off and wrenched his zipper down. He stepped out of his jeans even as he reached for one of the packets.

  She was staring, wanting to touch him, but he said in a guttural voice, “No touching. Not now.”

  Another time she might like to put the condom on for him, but at this moment she was only glad of his speed. He came down on top of her, some of his weight on his elbows, thrusting even as she lifted her legs to accommodate him.

  Her body arched and a keening sound slipped out. Conall swallowed it with his mouth. He took her at her word—the rhythm he set was hard and fast and had her frantic within seconds. They grappled and plunged. The headboard whapped against the wall and Conall flipped so that she rode him. Even if she’d wanted to slow the pace, he didn’t let her, his powerful hands gripping her hips and lifting and lowering her even as he drove upward.

  Release came shockingly soon, rolling over her in intense waves that were barely subsiding when Conall arched, bared his teeth in ecstasy and came. The cords in his neck stood out, and the sound he bit back was raw. It was a long moment before his hands first relaxed on her, then finally slid up her back to pull her onto him.

  She lay there, limp and replete, feeling glorious so long as she didn’t let herself think. Thinking would open her to worries and fears.

  Then I won’t.

  “How the hell did we manage to hold out until now?” he muttered.

  Lia smiled against his throat. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve stood out there in the damn hall wondering what you’d do if I got into bed with you?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He bent his head. “Mmm-hmm, what? You knew?”

  Lia couldn’t help a soft laugh at his outrage. “Of course
I do. I hear you every night, you know. I always wake up when you come downstairs.”

  “It’s been killing me.”

  “Me, too,” she admitted with a sigh. She kissed his neck right where it joined his shoulder. He tasted salty. She licked him for another sample. Who would have ever thought sweaty male could be so delicious?

  “I’ve got to take this damn condom off.” He groaned, lifted her off him, and heaved himself out of bed. Her lamp was still on; she was able to drink in the sight of his broad back, lean hips and long legs as he left her room naked.

  That gave her a moment of concern—what if one of the kids got up?—but it didn’t last long. For all she knew, he slept naked every night and chanced running into someone when he got up to use the bathroom. He was back before she had a chance to wonder whether he’d return. He was also semi-aroused, she saw.

  She smiled when he reached the bedside. “May I touch this time, Agent MacLachlan?”

  A grin flashed across his face, lightning quick and very sexy. “Certainly, Ms. Woods. To your heart’s content.”

  Her heart would not be content for a very long time, she thought, speared by the pain that would be so much worse when he packed his bags and left.

  But he wasn’t going yet, and she’d made her choice. For a second, sadness wanted to smother her. Was this the closest to true love she’d ever find? Perhaps it was inevitable that she’d fall in love with a man who would only be in her life for a short time.

  So be it.

  She reached out and cupped him in her hands, watching his face, learning what he liked.

  * * *

  CONALL DIDN’T LET HIMSELF fall asleep in her bed, even though he desperately wanted to. Lia had conked out after they made love a second time. Once the pressure cooker had been released the first time, they managed slow and tender, and, God help him, he’d never had sex like this.

  Asleep, Lia was slight in his arms, her bones delicate when he moved his hands over her. Fulfilling a fantasy, he’d taken her hair from the braid and it now fanned over the both of them, a thick silken blanket. He gently lifted a handful at a time and let it run through his fingers.

  She hadn’t told him to go. But he knew she wouldn’t want the kids to discover him in here, or to see him emerging from here later in the morning.

  So at last he separated himself from her, kissed her softly when she mumbled protests, and tucked her in before picking up his jeans from the floor, turning off the lamp and slipping out of her room. He left her door ajar, exactly as she always did—and he’d memorized it down to a fraction of an inch—then took himself to the bathroom to discard the second condom and wash.

  When he was done he braced his hands on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d never bothered before, after sex, to look deep. Well, not since the first time, when he was an exhilarated sixteen-year-old on a high from what he’d done with Autumn Hiatt who was short, probably on her way to being plump but possessing huge tits. Sex otherwise was great, one of life’s pleasures. But the partners he’d had that sex with had never mattered all that much. He was shaken to find out how much different it was when the woman did matter.

  When he had the really bad feeling no other woman ever would matter the same way. And that maybe sex wasn’t going to be so good in the future, either, when it wasn’t Lia’s gorgeous mouth he was kissing, her slick, heavy hair he’d buried his fingers in, her slim body beneath his, her green-brown eyes, glazed with passion but widening with amazement…

  “Oh, hell,” he groaned, and let his head fall.

  Tonight he and Henderson had finally caught a break. The men in the pickup had come back with another load, and before dark. They were getting cocky, it seemed. Given a good look, Conall had placed that familiar face, and they’d gotten some decent photos of two of the three residents of the house as well as the visitors.

  The bastard Conall knew was a gunrunner. Gordy Costello been peripheral to an operation Conall had worked in Southern California and had escaped the net before arrests were made. He wasn’t important enough then for them to bother pursuing aggressively. A confirmation of his identity now, though, would help justify a warrant that might bring this case to a close.

  And then he’d pack his duffel bag, toss it in the Suburban, say goodbye to Walker, Brendan and Lia and drive away.

  He swore again, low and ragged.

  He was good at moving on. A regular champion at it. Increasingly, he’d gotten bored with whatever he was working; he wanted nothing more than to move on to a new challenge, something that might engage him. It was ridiculous to think he was so happy living the bucolic life he didn’t want to leave. He pictured the damn cows chewing their cud and everything in him rose in outrage. No! This wasn’t him. It was…an interlude. That’s all. Pretty damn amazing sex, sure. Nice kids. He should be glad he’d been entertained while he was stuck here, because he would have gone out of his flipping mind otherwise.

  He ran both hands over his face, turned off the light and made his way to the bedroom and twin bed he currently called his. Where he lay awake entirely too long, his gut roiling with some unnamed anxiety as the same scene kept playing through his head: him saying goodbye to those two boys then turning to do the same to Lia, knowing this was it. Moving on.

  * * *

  BY AFTERNOON CONALL WAS getting emails giving him names to go with faces. Lia’s neighbors were, of all damn things, survivalists. White supremacists. The group with whom these three were affiliated was small. A couple of members had recently bought a chunk of acreage in rural Idaho, triggering some interest but no action. They hadn’t taken out a loan, but nobody within the organization had ever held the kind of job that would have brought in money like that. Whatever was going on next door to Lia was the answer, or part of it.

  Conall hadn’t seen any evidence yet that they were moving drugs, although he hadn’t ruled out the possibility. It was a tried-and-true method of raising big bucks, after all. Maybe Gordy Costello had switched his trade from weapons to white powder. Anything was possible. Conall kind of doubted it, though. He thought the neighbors were buying guns, but whether for resale or to arm themselves was another question. They wouldn’t be the first nuts with an us-against-the-world mentality. When they gathered on their Idaho enclave, they were likely to embrace a paranoid lifestyle, certain the FBI was watching through long-range binoculars.

  He smiled grimly at that. Little did the fools imagine they were already being watched by federal agents.

  Henderson, it developed, had worked an operation involving white supremacists who cultivated high-quality marijuana to support the war they envisioned coming between their kind and the U.S. government in its too-liberal, multi-ethnic arrogance.

  Telling Conall about it, Jeff had shaken his head. “Despite the quantity they were growing and dealing, the sentences handed out were pathetic. They probably bought a new piece of property and went right back to farming the minute they got out. The profit was worth the risk.”

  Yeah, wasn’t that always the case?

  It occurred to Conall that his frustration with outcomes had been fueling his growing dissatisfaction with his job. Was he accomplishing anything meaningful? He’d begun to doubt it. Sometimes he wanted to do something where he could see a measurable impact. Maybe not a big one, but the faces of people he’d helped. The victims of the drug wars were mainly faceless to him. He spent his life immersed in the underworld of users and dealers. Too often decisions made and handed down from above were tainted with politics.

  Maybe that was why these weeks had felt so clean to him. Why he half envied his brothers, who protected the townsfolk they considered their own.

  He shook his head over the idiocy. Niall and Duncan arrested their townsfolk, too, some of whom were scum not that different from the men Conall put behind bars. Their crimes were committed on a smaller scal
e, that’s all.

  Part of his mood, he admitted, had to do with the fact that here it was mid-afternoon and he was working instead of hanging out with Walker and Brendan. Lia had taken them somewhere a couple of hours ago; he’d heard the engine and from one of the attic windows seen her Subaru going out the driveway. He’d gone downstairs, ostensibly to use the john, but hoping to find a note. There was nothing. All he could tell was that the house was empty.

  Later, Henderson had gone down and made a sandwich. He sat eating it now while he idly watched the house across the pasture.

  Laptop open, Conall sprawled in the big easy chair Jeff had been enterprising enough to find behind a towering pile of boxes up here in the attic. No new email. He knew his restlessness had more to do with listening for the Subaru than because of anything he should be focusing on.

  “I haven’t been pulling my weight,” Conall heard himself say.

  Henderson turned to look at him in surprise. “You’re pulling your shifts.”

  “Shorter ones than yours.”

  “Not much. You’re doing most of the night.”

  “And playing all day.”

  “I’m okay up here. I don’t mind surveillance.” He hesitated. “I call my wife and we talk for a while every day.”

  “No reason not to.” Uncomfortable, Conall wondered why he’d initiated this conversation.

  “I wouldn’t have made friends downstairs like you have.” Weirdly, the other man was the one looking squirrely. “I’d have probably been sitting up here reading anyway.” He hesitated. “I told you once. The kids here…I don’t know what to say to them.”

  “They’re regular kids.” Like I’d know.

  Henderson was shaking his head. “No, they’re not. The girl is…I guess I don’t know any teenage girls, but she’s…sometimes the way she looks at me.” He stopped. “And those boys, if they talk at all, they ask weird questions.”

  Well, that was true enough. Curiosity stirring, though, Conall asked, “Like what?”

  “Since I go to church, can I tell them what happens to souls when people die. Or whether it’s true that fingernails keep growing after you’re dead.”