Beyond the Fire

by Cheryl Pierson

  Jack pulled her down to him. Their lips met, hers cautiously gentle, his with a certain heat that was unmistakable. His hand moved slowly up her body, over her ribs, lingering at her breast. Her heart jumped, but Jack made no move to fondle her. The heat of his hand filtered through the material of the bandaging and her shirt, warming her skin beneath, before he moved to skim the contours of her side and hip.

  Kendi’s tongue traced his lips softly. He let her. He lay still and seemed to savor the way her mouth moved on his, her fingers losing themselves in the thick blackness of his hair, her heart speaking to his. She felt him harden where their bodies touched. He wanted her. There was no doubt of that by the tension of his muscled body, the rough cadence of his breathing. Her stomach flipped. She dared to separate from him briefly, her mouth close to his. There was no hiding the yearning she felt for him, and as she looked into his eyes, she was both relieved and anxious to see his desire mirrored there.

  “Yeah,” he muttered softly. “I’m in a lot more trouble than I thought.”

  Chapter Four

  Benito Sanchez’s office, a plush, no-expenses-spared suite in Fountain Place, overlooked downtown Dallas. Among Dallas’s skyline, this building was one of the highest priced rentals available, with every possible amenity for the occupants. He took great pride in it.

  His bogus enterprise, S & L Industries, was a front company for his many other illicit operations. Clint Rivers sat at a long table in a conference room, along with five other men employed by S&L. Supposedly. They all wore suits and ties, as would any respectable businessman seen entering or leaving this building.

  Sanchez let his gaze wander around the table, idly resting on each of the men for a brief moment. Mario Lopez, the short, jovial hitman who did most of the killing he ordered; Larry Joe Boils and Brad Watson, who were responsible for tracking the drug shipments and keeping the books; Tom Granger, a courier who sometimes ran more than messages when a buyer needed the goods in a hurry; and Mickey Bierly, who was responsible for all their computers and communications equipment.

  There were others out there in the network—expendable workers who Sanchez didn’t give a damn about. The important people are all here, he thought, with the exception of Jackson Taylor. Up until a few days ago, he’d used an alias like the rest of them—John Thomas—until Sanchez had been tipped off as to Jack’s true identity. Retribution had begun swift and sure, as Taylor had to have known it would be. He’d undergone hours…days…of brutal torture before he was beaten one last time and tossed into the bed of Rivers’s pickup for final disposal.

  “Get rid of him,” Sanchez had ordered. “You know what I mean. Be certain he never causes us any more trouble. Can’t have him breathing.” He’d dispatched Rivers and Bull Johnson to take care of the business of doing away with Taylor—once and for all.

  This meeting was mandatory. Taylor’s death had to be discussed. Perhaps I should have had Mario do the job. He was disquieted, but there was nothing to worry about—yet.

  “As you know,” Sanchez began, “we are one man short in our operation.” His gaze settled on Clint. “John Thomas—Jackson Taylor—was a U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency operative. He is now dead, thanks to Clint Rivers.” He gave a short bow toward where Rivers sat, and Rivers nodded in return. Mario Lopez’s interest in his reaction was keen.

  Is Lopez fearful of being replaced? That could be dangerous.

  He pursed his lips, then continued. “I don’t believe Mr. Taylor was working alone.” His eyes moved over each member of his team with leisurely deliberation. Tom Granger and Mickey Bierly glanced away from the hard scrutiny—although neither of them had anything to hide—at least, that he knew of.

  “Let me assure you, gentlemen, I will not be double-crossed. You play a foolish game if you value your life—as Jackson Taylor discovered last night.”

  A few minutes later, as the meeting concluded, Rivers stood up and walked for the door, unhurriedly reaching for the doorknob.

  “Rivers—wait a minute.”

  He turned as Sanchez approached. “Bull tells me you found a nice, out-of-the-way place to leave Mr. Taylor to his eternal rest. True?”

  The corner of Rivers’s mouth quirked. “Oh, yeah. He’s out-of-the-way, Ben. Real sweet little spot down by the creek, out in the country.”

  “What creek?”

  Rivers paused, then waved a hand in airy dismissal. “I’m not sure. You know how Texas is—more creeks than you can shake a stick at.”

  “I don’t like loose ends, Rivers.”

  Rivers didn’t back down, returning his stare. “Neither do I. No worries, Ben, unless you consider some deer hunter discovering a skeleton five years down the road a ‘loose end’. It’s taken care of.”

  Sanchez nodded, clapping a hand to Clint’s tense shoulder. “Settle down. I just wanted to be sure. First time I’ve sent my ‘legal eagle’ to do any hands-on wetwork. You being trained as a big-time lawyer and all, I just had to find out if you could do...everything I asked of you.”

  “He did fine, Boss,” Bull said from behind Sanchez. He gave Rivers a toothy grin. “Blasted the hell outta Taylor, then we left. Made it back just ahead of the snow.”

  Sanchez seemed satisfied. “Keep your whip oiled, Bull. Soon’s I figure out who the other traitor is, you’ll be needing it again.”

  Bull laughed, setting Clint’s teeth on edge. “My pleasure, Boss. I’ll cut him to ribbons for you, just like I did Mr. Jackson Taylor.”

  “If that’s all?” Clint asked evenly.

  Sanchez watched him speculatively. “Yes. That’s all. I’ll be in touch.” The hint of amusement in his tone brought an odd look to Rivers’s face, and made Sanchez wonder all over again just who Clint Rivers really was.

  ****

  “Who are you, Jackson? Really?” Kendi’s green eyes were filled with something that Jack had always been prepared to walk away from—but not this time. That look was beyond concern, and he couldn’t allow this to turn into anything more than what it was right now—him, having to accept help from Kendi so he could finish the job he and Clint had started. Her expression was too sympathetic. Looking into her eyes brought back memories of last night when he’d been lying by the creek bank in the blackness, and she’d materialized from the woods.

  His mouth went dry all over again. Looking at her, looking at him. He wished he didn’t hurt so bad; wished his head didn’t feel like it was going to explode; wished he had the right answer for her. It hurt to talk. Hurt to think. But it didn’t hurt to kiss. No, that was a cool, pain-free thirty seconds he’d like to recreate.

  But he was not going to hurt Kendi. Hadn’t he promised her she was safe with him? That was one he wished he could do over.

  He drew back from her, sinking into the pillows, his breath catching on a groan as he turned just a little too far onto his lacerated back. Kendi bit her lip, her eyes filled with worry. But she remained quiet, waiting for his response.

  “I’m a drug enforcement agent, like I told you.” Her expression was dubious.

  “And those were friends of yours who left you for dead out there.”

  Jack shook his head, then winced, holding completely still. “No, just one of them. The one who didn’t shoot me when he was supposed to.” He took a deep breath, his ribs protesting as he did. “My partner and I—infiltrated. Been working on this now for over six months. We should’ve finished up a couple of weeks ago, but...”

  “They discovered who you really were?”

  Jack’s lips quirked at her understatement. “Uh—yeah.”

  “And they tortured you.” She was silent a moment. “Was there a purpose for that, or was it just for the hell of it?”

  “They needed some information…which I chose not to provide.”

  “Like?”

  “If I had a partner. If so, who was it? They wanted other names; things that would kill people—”

  “Don’t joke, Jack—” Kendi broke off, gently moving away from him.
r />   He felt the sweet weight of her, the soothing warmth of her body desert him, and he had to remind himself not to reach for her, to pull her back to him.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “It was serious—as you can see.”

  “Serious enough to kill you.”

  Jack watched her through swollen eyes. He didn’t want to tell her everything. This was an ugly, rotten business, and suddenly, looking into the concern on her face, he was aware that he’d done things he was ashamed of, even though they had been in the line of duty.

  “They didn’t get what they were hoping for,” he murmured evasively.

  “You protected your partner.”

  “I’m no hero, Kendi.” But God, he wished he were. He wished Kendi Morgan would look at him forever through those vibrant green eyes—like she was right at this moment—like he was someone to be proud of. Like he could hold the world on his shoulders if he wanted.

  She shook her head stubbornly. “Those stripes on your back say otherwise, Jack.” He started to reply, but Kendi stopped him. “What I want to know is what kind of a partner would leave you out there in the woods as badly hurt as you are? With the cold, and the rain—you could’ve died from exposure, if not from your injuries.” Her voice rose indignantly.

  “He had no choice.”

  “There were only two of them! He could have shot the other man, or knocked him out, or...something!”

  “Is that what you’d have done?”

  “Yes!” she flared, sitting up in the bed beside him. “I wouldn’t have just left you!”

  “You’d have thrown away close to seven months worth of surveillance and undercover operations for one person’s life?”

  “If that life was my partner’s, yes.” Kendi’s voice cracked.

  Jack watched her struggle to get her emotions under control. Finally, he lifted his left hand, cupping her cheek with his bandaged palm. “You’d make a hell of a partner, Kendi, but a piss-poor agent.” His voice was low, husky. He turned toward her, but Kendi moved away at the same time. She stood and walked to the fireplace, her back ramrod stiff. Jack noted the whitening of her knuckles around the handle of the poker, the way she carefully avoided looking back at him, studiously poking at the fire.

  He had hurt her. He cursed himself inwardly in the tense silence that filled the room. “Hey, Kendi—”

  She finally turned to look at him, setting the poker aside.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  She shook her head and looked down, as if coming to a decision “Jack, I guess I-I should explain some things to you, too. Talking is something we both need to do.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing, Kendi.”

  She smiled at him, and in that moment, he knew he was in jeopardy of losing himself to her.

  “I know, but...I want to.” She rubbed her hands together nervously and started back toward the bed in halting steps. The wooden floor creaked as the house seemed to brace against the cold.

  Jack felt himself settle into the bed with a new degree of relaxation. He was becoming accustomed to the creaks and groans of the structure. The fire blazed brightly, and the snow had turned to sleet that pelted the windows with a steady hissing noise.

  He patted the bed, and Kendi carefully sat down next to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you...where’s the husband who goes with these...sheets?”

  “Huh?”

  Jack gave her a contented grin. “These are sheets like you’d get for a wedding gift—pure India cotton—what, about a thousand count or two?”

  Kendi smiled at the joke. “Now you’re the textile expert?”

  “Worked in a department store one summer when I was in college. You might say I got to be an expert on sheets, towels, blenders—until I quit two weeks later.”

  “Did you win the lottery?”

  “No. Got a better offer.”

  “Doing what?”

  The laughter vanished abruptly along with the easy feeling between them. He let his eyes close, shutting out the expectant look Kendi was giving him. Whatever it was she thought he was going to say, Jack knew it wouldn’t be the words he spoke.

  “Running drugs.”

  He waited, tension creeping into his body again until he felt like his muscles were going to tear free inside his skin. He had never told another person the truth about himself—about why he’d become an agent for the most sophisticated drug enforcement administration in the world.

  Now, Kendi knew, and the relief was something he couldn’t have imagined.

  “That’s why you became an agent,” Kendi murmured quietly.

  “I can never make up for what I did.”

  Kendi reached to touch Jack’s bruised cheek with a feather-light caress. He reluctantly opened his eyes, expecting to see cold censure in her features. But Kendi leaned down to him, gently brushing his lips with her own in a soft gift of pure forgiveness for every terrible thing that might have been wrought from Jack’s illicit operations so long ago.

  He closed his eyes again, savoring the feel of Kendi’s mouth on his, her complete acceptance of all that he was—good and bad—in that gesture.

  “You already have, Jack,” she whispered against his skin. “You must have been young.”

  “I knew better.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  He reached to finger her silky hair. “What was yours, sweetheart?”

  ****

  She didn’t answer immediately. His use of the endearment was sweet, and she let it sweep through her. “Loving someone too much,” she said finally. Her failed marriage was still haunting her, in all the most inconvenient and unexpected ways. Loyalty had never been Tal Dyer’s strong suit. Kendi was suddenly aware that her eyes were watering. Because Jack called me sweetheart? Even Tal hadn’t done that. A lot of people lost at love. It wasn’t as if she was the only one. And she didn’t want to be all weird about it. It wasn’t like her divorce was a deep, dark secret.

  She brushed away the threatening tears and turned to lie beside him again, careful not to touch his battered body. She had let him see too much of her.

  It was embarrassing to admit she hadn’t really been such a great partner to the one person she thought had mattered more than anyone else in the world.

  The one thing she had managed to do right, throughout everything, was to hold on to the home place that had been her parents’. It had cost her dearly.

  She’d given Tal everything he’d wanted, including a whopping cash settlement to buy out his half of the house when they’d divorced. His half of the house she’d been raised in, that had belonged in her family for over a hundred years. The house he had shared with her for less than two of those years—just long enough to get his settlement. And once that was done, she took back what was hers, including her maiden name. She wanted no reminders of those two years of marriage.

  The loneliness of the year since then had been better than the mockery her marriage had been. She realized, now, Tal had been a fortune hunter. She’d given him everything she’d had, including the very last piece of her heart.

  “I didn’t realize what he was after wasn’t me—it was my money. After my parents died, I paid this place off with the insurance money. Then, I had to re-mortgage it to pay him half of the value of the house when we divorced.” She gave a rueful smile. “So now, it really is mine—all over again.”

  Jack gave a low whistle. “Where did you meet a winner like that?”

  “Ironically, at church.” Kendi laughed, and Jack’s lips curved up in response. “His daddy is a Baptist preacher.”

  “Sounds like someone needs to put the fear of God into both of them.” Jack shifted to face her better.

  “No danger of that. Tal’s daddy thinks he and God are personal buddies, so Tal’s not afraid of him or anyone else.”

  “Did he hurt you, Ken?”

  She shook her head. “Not physically. Just beat me to death emotionally. Very, very slowly.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. I know
how that feels well enough. I managed to turn everything off inside myself for...years.”

  “And you plan to keep it that way,” she said, finishing his unspoken thought.

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “Caring for another person, in any capacity, isn’t something I’m sure I can remember how to do. Sometimes...I’m not even sure I’m human anymore.”

  But he put his pierced hand out to cup Kendi’s cheek in a gentle protectiveness, and she knew that wasn’t true. He was very much human, though it might scare him to think so, at this point. Understanding passed between them, and Kendi closed her eyes tightly, holding back the wash of her own painful memories.

  She drew her protective cloak around herself, shaking her head at her own weakness. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. The physical pain pushed back the memories of Tal’s betrayal, until all she was aware of was Jackson Taylor’s touch.

  But Jack was a man, and truthfully, she knew nothing about him except what he’d told her. Could be everything was a lie—just as Tal had lied. She wondered if any man could be trusted, and right now, she was in no mood to find out. Her feelings of mistrust began with her older brother Jason’s virtual disappearance from their family after their sister Heather’s death, followed by her father’s withdrawal. Tal’s betrayal had been the icing on the cake. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she wanted to ever see another man.

  “Kendi?”

  She looked into Jack’s battered face, watching for the telltale trace of betrayal in his eyes, but it wasn’t there. Concern lined his features, his eyes warm with caring, and for Kendi, that was intolerable right now. She couldn’t let herself be that stupid again—to believe a man could sincerely care for her, with no ulterior motive.

  At least, when Jason had gone away, he’d told them why he was going, and not to expect to hear from him for a while. Her lips curved up at that memory. Neither she, nor her parents, had expected “for a while” to turn into forever, but it had.