by Joya Fields
His leather scent tantalized her nose and she pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his strong waist. She slid her hands up his back and held him against her, sensing he needed to be held tight. The firm grip of his arms around her shoulders made her want to share her strength with him.
“You’re so good, Keels,” he whispered. “So good.”
He ran his hands up and down her back, caressing her, holding her close. There was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. They held each other, rocking back and forth like the quiet surf on a beach, for over a minute.
Keely massaged him, kneaded the skin on his back, and the tension eased out of his muscles gradually.
“Keels.” His husky voice vibrated in the small entryway and he laid his hands on her shoulders.
Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes, treasuring the feel of him, knowing this could be the start of many nights in each others’ arms.
She lifted her face and gazed into his brown eyes—somehow suddenly a deeper, darker shade—and drew in a deep breath before letting it out while she studied the look on his face. In the dim hall light, shadows danced on his face and pain darted through his gaze. She’d do anything to make him better.
Keeping her gaze on his, she dragged her hands to his abdomen. He sucked in a breath and his muscles bunched.
His eyes changed. The pained look morphed into a hungry one. He moved his hands up and down her arms, warming her with the heat radiating from his palms.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured. He needed comfort, and God help her, she loved being the one to give it to him, show him the world was a better place than he thought.
He touched his lips to hers, a feathery kiss that left her wanting more. He slid his tongue between her lips and her body hummed with need. With a touch so gentle it made her eyes tear, he held the sides of her face in both his palms and searched her mouth with his.
In the dim light, she pulled them both down to their knees on the rug and undressed him, kissing the exposed skin with each piece of clothing she removed.
He grunted, low in his throat, every inch of him naked and in front of her, his need for her obvious. With a slow smile, he pulled her T-shirt over her head.
“Nice,” he said. With his gaze locked to hers, he massaged her breast with his calloused palm. Ripples of pleasure shot through her body. He dipped his head and his hot breath teased her other breast before he flicked his tongue over the peaked nipple.
She drew a shaking breath as his hands cupped her bottom. How could one man make her feel so wanted, so alive, so completely insane with need for him? Every nerve in her body screamed to be touched.
“I’ve been thinking of you a lot tonight, Keels,” he whispered, his breath hot on her earlobe.
His words turned her on even more than his hands. She’d been on his mind? As he’d been on hers?
“I’ve been thinking of how much I need you.”
“I need you, too,” she said, barely able to get the words out over the lump in her throat. With trembling fingers, she combed her hand through his hair, bringing his head closer, giving him all of herself.
She’d appreciate this for what it was. She’d love him for this second, without worrying about what it might mean tomorrow. Still, her heart fluttered. Maybe things were different this time. They’d make it work, they’d find a way.
…
Logan jolted awake to music. He frowned for a few seconds before realizing a pop song came from Keely’s cell phone on the nightstand. Sunlight streamed between two maroon curtains. He smiled and stretched as Keely reached for her phone, exposing her upper half. He itched to reach out, palm her pert breasts as he’d done last night, but reined his instincts in to give her peace for the phone call.
The LED display on the bedside clock read seven-thirty.
“Nevaeh?” Keely answered. She propped herself up and tried to yank the sheet over her naked body with one hand while holding the phone in the other.
Her long brown hair was tousled and again he had to fight the desire to touch her, run his hands through it. He groaned at the sight of her bare breasts. May as well be a gentleman. Reaching out, he helped her wrench the sheet to her shoulders.
“No.” Keely’s hushed words echoed around her bedroom and blood rushed from her face.
He froze.
“I’ll be right there,” she managed.
She punched a button on her phone and stared blankly across the room. She tightened her jaw and he knew her well enough to know it was an old habit that kept her from crying. He’d once seen her hit in the face with a basketball—hard—and she swallowed her tears by doing the same thing at age fourteen.
“Anything I can do?” he asked.
As if she just remembered his presence, she swung to face him. “That man I told you about when we were in the crack house—no, not a man, a monster. The one who was in jail? He made bail. Stole his three-year-old boy from the relative’s house where he was placed, and has now beaten his son so badly that the kid’s fighting for his life at the hospital. And the kid’s sister Melita is still missing. Something bad has happened to that little girl.” Keely tightened her jaw even more.
He shook his head and pulled her close, wishing he could erase her pain. “It’s not easy seeing bad guys walk free.”
She glanced up and attempted a smile, but her lips were pressed too tightly together to move except at the corners.
“I’m sorry.” She kissed the palm of his hand, wriggled out of his grasp and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I need to get to the hospital. There’s probably nothing I can do, but I feel like I need to be there…just in case.”
“Want a ride?” Logan scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
She stood and slipped into a pink robe. Facing him, she belted it, a clouded look in her eyes. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but it was the wrong time.
“No, thanks. I’ll take a shower and go. And you should get some more rest.” She slid out of the room.
“I’ll make coffee,” he said. But he wasn’t sure she heard him as she shut the bathroom door behind her.
He’d never been in Keely’s house before, but signs of her taste and personality permeated the place—plants near every window, new granite countertops, antique books in piles. Her house offered a welcoming warmth that he never seemed to obtain at his own house.
He rooted through the kitchen cupboards, searching for the coffee. Her organization impressed him. He’d learned some organizational skills in the Marines, but she’d have put even the most diligent major to shame. He found the tin of dark roasted beans and set to work making a pot of coffee. The aroma filled the room as he opened and closed cupboards, hoping to find something to feed her.
Canned goods were sorted not just by variety, but also by size. He couldn’t spot even one almost-empty pizza box, discarded beer can, or dirty dish in the sink.
His gut pinged. What would it be like to live with Keely? He’d have to be neater, more organized, but he’d make adjustments if it meant being with her. The cushy job offer in Texas was starting to sound a little boring. And lonely.
He shook his head. Where the hell had that thought come from?
He stared at her tidy house. She’d accepted him last night, helped him forget the painful sight of innocent women who’d been forced to endure horrible conditions. She deserved someone with a better track record. Had he changed enough in ten years to believe he could be with her permanently? Keely thought so, but he didn’t. God, it felt good to think about the possibility, though.
Maybe she was right about the kid in Afghanistan. It’s possible a soldier without an abusive background would have done the same thing as he had. Maybe.
She’d been like a balm on a sore wound last night. Not just the sex, either. She’d held on to him when he’d walked through the door and he’d let her take his pain away. And then, after they’d made love, she’d reached for him, held him tight for the rest of the night. Yeah. He could
get used to sleeping like that.
The thought scared the hell out of him.
By the time she came downstairs—dressed in khaki pants and a purple button-down blouse—he’d arranged a plate of neatly-cut triangles of peanut butter toast, a mug of black coffee, and a sliced apple for her.
She smiled at him, and in spite of the sad phone call, the smile went all the way to her eyes.
He pulled her against him. “Usually, I burn the toast. Today, I made an exception.”
Keely planted a kiss on his lips. “Thank you. This is very sweet.” She glanced at the table and laid her head on his chest. He stroked her back and closed his eyes, letting himself believe he could share his life with her.
With a smile, she backed away and pulled out a chair. “I think I can spare a few minutes.”
He sat across from her, lifted his mug, and sipped.
After taking a bite of her peanut butter toast, she leaned forward to ask, “So what happened with your case last night?”
Thanks to her, he’d been able to put last night’s events out of his mind for a while—the scumbags who treated humans worse than animals. Being with her had done the trick.
Maybe that was what she needed right now. As much as he didn’t want to talk about what they’d found on that deserted pier, and as much as he didn’t want to relive it, telling her about the bust might help keep her mind off the boy fighting for his life at the hospital, and the missing little girl. Correction, the three missing girls.
“It was tough.” He stared at the table between them before looking up to meet her gaze. “We caught smugglers trying to bring twenty-five women into Baltimore. Likely as not, to be slaves or prostitutes.”
Keely’s hand that held her coffee mug halted in mid-air. “Last night? You saved twenty-five people from that life, Logan?”
He could have kissed her, and wanted to. But it wasn’t what she needed. She viewed what he did as saving people’s lives. But in reality, he was always one step behind the bad guys.
“Only twenty-four lived. We arrested three men, but we didn’t get the ringleader. Yet,” he added.
“Modern day slavery. Right here in Baltimore.” She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them.
“Until the whole operation is shut down, they’ll just keep bringing in others, and we might not be lucky enough to catch them.”
Her gaze fell to his bare chest. “Still, you saved all those people. That must be a great feeling.” She cleared her throat and stood. “I’ll leave you the key so you can lock up. Take a shower first if you want.”
“Sure you don’t want a ride?”
“I’m sure.” She grabbed her briefcase from a spot between the wall and her desk. “I have no idea how long I’ll be.” Fishing out a key, she handed it to him and then stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss.
“I hope Melita turns up. And that her brother isn’t as bad off as they think.” He walked her to the door.
“This asshole of a father is going to need luck when I’m done with him.” She twisted the deadbolt and faced him with narrowed eyes. “Some people should never be allowed to be parents.”
She turned, squared her shoulders, walked directly to her car, and slid in. She didn’t look back, and Logan was glad.
Because his face had to be registering the pain that slammed through him as he processed her parting words.
Chapter Fifteen
In the station bullpen, Logan took the printout of the report he’d been working on from the printer tray, crumpled it, and chucked it at the metal trash can. When he missed, he turned his swivel chair sideways and kicked the can so hard he put a dent in it.
“Whoa,” Dunnigan said, turning the corner by Logan’s desk. “What’d that bin ever do to you?” His friend leaned on top of the partition that separated Logan’s desk from ten other desks in the unit.
“Typos,” Logan said. “Can’t type worth shit.” Let Dunnigan think he was mad about work-related issues.
“Paperwork can wait.” Dunnigan took a swig from the Styrofoam coffee cup he held. “Hell of a bust last night.”
“Hmph.” Logan peered at the document on his computer to fix the typing errors. “We didn’t get anything on the guys running this shit.”
Logan was spared any more conversation when Dunnigan was paged and he turned and walked away. Let him think he was angry because they didn’t catch the ringleaders. Or that the damn reports were a pain in the ass. Let them all think he was a diligent cop who helped bring down a human trafficking ring and still wanted more.
Not that it wasn’t all true. He wanted more, all right. He wanted the top guys, the ones who were making money selling human beings. Not just the couriers. And he wanted them to spend the rest of their lives in a jail cell. Then they’d find out what being a slave was like. No rights. No freedom.
But that wasn’t the issue burning in his gut today.
Keely, he thought as he knuckled his eyes. He’d been weak. He’d run to her last night, seeking comfort, needing to find some sign of goodness in this Godforsaken, messed-up world where people could be sold as slaves.
And that weakness had cost him, big time. He’d lowered his defenses, started to believe he and Keely could have a future.
But she’d reminded him—in no uncertain terms—that somebody like him could never be with somebody like her. “Some people don’t deserve to be parents,” she’d said. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant him—she’d made her views on that clear earlier. But nevertheless, she was right. He shouldn’t be a parent.
It was definitely time to get the hell out of here and head to Texas. As soon as he finished with this case.
Stabbing the print button on the machine, he stood to retrieve the corrected copy of the report. After crossing the room to put the file in Dunnigan’s inbox, he went back to his own desk, pulled out his cell phone, and hit the speed dial for Ben.
Time to crack a case. Even if it wasn’t his.
…
Keely stepped outside the hospital into the bright October sun. Why did the world have so many evil people in it? Little George’s head injury was so severe doctors worried about permanent brain damage. She’d talked with the caseworker from the hospital, filled the woman in on George’s history. Now, she fisted her hands and forced the image of the child’s father from her mind—his angry, contorted face as he crashed through the kitchen.
She hustled up the block from the Greene Street hospital to the parking garage and let the sounds of the city—the blaring horns, the accelerating transit busses, and the sound of slamming doors as busy business people scurried around at the midweek lunch hour—distract her instead of letting herself cry the tears she wanted to shed for George and his missing sister Melita. For little Lettie and brave Ava, all of whom were God knew where. For now, George’s father was under arrest, but not talking.
Brain damage, she thought as she jogged up the parking garage steps to the third floor.
That monster of a father wouldn’t be walking out of jail this time. He’d pay the price. But at what cost to his children?
She welcomed the anger that replaced her sadness. So many couples tried for years to conceive a child but couldn’t. Yet a monster like Melita and George’s dad could father two and then treat them like shit. It wasn’t fair. Some people seriously didn’t deserve to be parents.
Cresting the top of the garage ramp, she leaned against a pillar and froze. Slow heat crept up her neck.
Oh, damn. Oh, hell no.
She’d said that aloud when she left her house, hadn’t she? In front of Logan.
How could she have been so insensitive?
Had he heard her? Thought it had been directed at him? He believed his violent actions—with the kid when he was nineteen, with the boy in Afghanistan, with the charges of brutality—were related to his father’s abuse, but who wouldn’t have reacted as he had, in all three cases? Logan had already told her he wouldn’t make a good father, was planning to get a vasectomy,
for crying out loud. If he heard what she said…
But she hadn’t meant him. There was a world of difference between Melita’s father and Logan. Didn’t he see that?
With her heart pounding, she prayed he hadn’t mistaken her venting as aimed at him. But if he’d taken her words to validate his own misgivings about fatherhood…
Damn!
She pulled out her cell and called him, saying a silent prayer he hadn’t heard her earlier thoughtless comment. His phone went straight to voicemail. He must be busy. Surely, after all they’d shared last night, he wouldn’t ignore her call.
Would he…?
…
Two hours later, Keely balanced four canvas grocery bags in her arms and twisted her key in her dad’s front door lock. She almost tumbled on top of Logan when he yanked open the door and pinned her with a stare.
Chills ran down her spine at the sight of his set jaw.
There was no doubt about it. He’d heard her parting words.
“Hey.” She smiled and blew a clump of stray hairs out of her face as she set the bags on the foyer floor.
He smiled back, but it quickly faded and never reached his eyes. His mouth—the sexy mouth she’d only just begun to know—tightened in a firm line.
“I’ll take those.” His gaze dropped to the bags.
She handed him two.
He took them and turned without saying a word. She followed him through her father’s living room, noting her father, Dave, and Beatrice were seated there.
She sketched a wave, then followed Logan into the kitchen, where he started unloading lunchmeat, soups, and whole-grain bread.
“How are the kids—the little girl and her brother?” He stacked canned goods in the cupboard.
“Father’s in jail, Melita’s still missing.” She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second, still unwilling to process the news. “George might have a permanent brain injury.”
Logan halted with a bag of wheat muffins midair. “Brain damage?”
