by Julie Miller
“Tom...”
“That’s the magic word.” He carried her to the ladder at the edge of the dock and climbed up after her. He snatched up their discarded clothes and pushed them into her arms to cover herself. Then he grabbed the blanket and her hand and hurried back to his truck.
The time it took to spread the blanket in the bed of his truck, form a makeshift pillow from their dry clothes and peel off their wet ones was far too long to be apart from this woman who’d gotten so far into his head and under his skin that the only way he could feel right again was to let her into his heart. Once he’d rolled on a condom and she was reaching for him, Duff settled between her knees and pushed himself inside her. He hesitated when he reached her tight barrier. But this sexy, brave woman was having none of that. She dug her fingers into his spine, angled her hips and urged him to fill her. She winced and buried her face against the juncture of his neck and shoulder as she stretched to accommodate him. Stars dotted the inside of his eyelids as her body gripped him. He was dangerously close to losing himself inside her.
But Duff held his breath, held her. “You okay?”
“I think I’m more okay than I’ve been in a long time. I’ve never felt this close to anyone before. This feels...right. But...” Was it possible for a woman’s entire body to blush?
“But what?” His arms shook with restraint as he propped himself above her. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“Aren’t there supposed to be bells and whistles?”
Duff’s laugh echoed through the clear night air. “Yeah. Very definitely.” Her eyes drifted shut as he reclaimed her lips and moved inside her. “Bells and...” Together they found a rhythm that rocked them as sweetly as the waves on the lake. And when the whispers of his name turned into silent, needy gasps, he pressed himself against that sensitive bundle of nerves and felt her detonate around him. “And whistles.”
He swallowed up her husky cry with a kiss. And with the waves of her pleasure convulsing around him, the combustion hit him, too.
Afterward, he collapsed atop the blanket and pulled her into his arms beside him.
Melanie snuggled close, tangling her legs with his and pushing her hair out of her eyes. The dampness from the lake and their loving cooled his skin as their heavy, stuttered breaths synced and slowed. She settled her cheek against the pillow of his shoulder and whispered, “Wow. I liked the bells and whistles. A lot.”
“Me, too, Doc.”
He pulled the edges of the blanket over them and hugged her close. The peal of imaginary bells rang in his thoughts as Melanie drifted off to sleep, while Duff watched real stars dot the night sky above them.
Chapter Fourteen
Melanie couldn’t decide which she liked better—the powerful, beautiful and cherished feelings from Tom’s lovemaking, or the quiet, intimate talks they shared in between. She loved that he was a snuggler as much as he was a fighter, and that he could touch her heart with his growly words as well as he could kiss her and make her body feel things that, well, she’d only read about in books.
She was slightly winded from her second lesson in seduction, and feeling the grooves of the plastic truck bed liner digging into her hip, but she wasn’t going anywhere. Not as long as the night was clear and Tom wanted to hold her. Toasty warm against his side, she traced figure eights through the crisp curls of brown hair that dusted his deep chest and smiled. “So that’s the deep, dark secret about your nickname? A bike wreck when you were ten?”
His assent rumbled through his chest. “I kept trying to tell everybody in the hospital how ‘tough’ I was after breaking my nose and getting my front teeth knocked out after going stuntman off that rock wall behind our old house. But with my injuries, I couldn’t say the T sound, so it came out ‘Duff.’ Since I was prone to taking a risk or two, the name stuck.”
“A risk or two?”
“I’ve been to the ER more times than my brothers, sister and father combined.”
Melanie’s fingers stilled above his heart. “I don’t think I like those statistics.”
He captured her hand against his chest. “It’s okay. I’m tough.” He chuckled. “Or, I should say, I’m Duff.”
She smiled at the story from his childhood. “I don’t think you’re as ‘duff’ as you claim. I saw how you felt when you talked about your mother. You light up when you mention your family. Seamus, especially. I bet you’re a lot like him.”
“Light up? Uh-uh. Next you’ll be saying I’m sweet and sentimental. I have a reputation to maintain, woman. I make a living being a tough guy.” He gave her bottom a swat, then splayed his fingers there, massaging the spot as if the teasing tap might have stung. It hadn’t. But there was something else on his mind. “You should think seriously about going back to school to become a doctor. I imagine I could use one.”
Because he wanted her to stick around and be a part of his life for at least the six years it would take to complete her degrees? Instead of laughing at the self-deprecating joke as she was meant to, she shivered. There were no guarantees she’d have anything more than this night with Tom. Silas Danvers, Uncle Henry and a stash of illegal guns and blood money were waiting for them back at the compound. Tom had a job to do. He was already an hour into his night security shift. And though he’d called in on the walkie-talkie in his truck to say that he was on duty, eventually, they’d run into someone and he’d have to resume his Duff Maynard persona.
And she’d have to pretend that she didn’t know about the guns or Gin Rickey or the way she longed for a new life with the real Detective Watson away from the farm.
“Hey.” He tucked his fingers beneath her chin, turning her face up to his. “You doze off on me again? I fed you a great straight line I can’t believe you’re passing up.”
Although her heart wasn’t in it, she summoned a smart-aleck comeback about how no school in the world could teach her enough to keep him out of trouble. But before the words left her lips, Tom’s entire body tensed beside her and his fingers moved up to cover her mouth.
Obeying the universal shush sign, Melanie reached for her clothes as Tom quickly tugged on his shorts and jeans, and pulled his gun from its holster. Now she could hear it, too—footsteps moving through the trees.
He motioned for her to stay down as he silently vaulted over the side of the truck and crept into the shadows.
She was dressed except for the zipper and flip-flops by the time she heard terse voices approaching. “There was no call, no text. You know it’s policy to get eyes on an operative when he misses a check-in.”
She crouched in her hiding place until she recognized Tom’s growly tone. “Something came up that needed to be dealt with. And turn those stupid flashlights off before somebody sees you.”
Melanie peeked above the side of the truck to see Tom and two other men approaching. She recognized the blond MBI agent from the rainy night at the fire tower before their lights were quickly snuffed. Her eyes readjusted to the moonlight, but she still didn’t recognize the second man, who wore a dark gray suit jacket and slacks, along with the gun strapped at his hip. Although he’d taken off his tie, he looked out of place in the casual world in which she lived. Another member of the task force?
As she scooted off the back of the pickup, Agent Benton eyed the rumpled blanket and her hastily dressed appearance. “Yeah, I see how you’re dealing with it. This is how you handle someone blowing your cover?”
“Back off, Benton. Melanie’s been an invaluable resource.” Neither apologizing for nor explaining away what had just happened between them in the back of his truck, Tom swept her damp hair over the front of her shoulder and zipped up her dress. “I trust her to keep my identity and your operation a secret.”
The dark-haired man she didn’t know seemed vaguely familiar as he circled the truck, surveying the landscape, assessing the shadow
s. “You’re sure, Duff? I remember Shayla Ortiz.” When he got close enough for her to see his chiseled features above his open shirt collar, she realized he was a shorter, more polished version of Tom. He flashed her a smile as he extended his hand to her. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Keir Watson.”
“Watson?”
He held her hand as she tilted her questioning gaze up to Tom.
“Yep, he belongs to me.” Tom smacked the younger man on the back of the head, urging him to release her. “Melanie Fiske, this is my brother, Keir. He’s KCPD, too.”
She remembered the tall, lanky doctor with the glasses. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Two. This pip-squeak is the youngest.” Tom sat on the tailgate to pull on his socks and boots.
“And the handsomest. Nice to meet you.” The pip-squeak looked fully grown, fully armed and completely dangerous despite his obvious charm. “This big doofus giving you any trouble? I’d be happy to rescue you.”
“Really? Back off, little bro. You’ve already got a woman.”
Keir answered with a soft laugh. “That I do. Kenna sends her regards.”
“Regards?” Matt Benton swore under his breath. “I’ll do a 360 to make sure there aren’t eyes on us while you two share tea and crumpets. You Watsons have five minutes.”
When the agent left to survey the surrounding area, Keir propped his hands at his hips beneath his jacket. “Is Benton always this uptight?”
“Pretty much.” Tom shrugged. “But he’s good with paperwork and hoop jumping, so we make a good team. Everything all right at home? Grandpa? Dad?”
“They’re good. Millie’s worried that you’re not eating enough. So not much has changed. Niall said you started the first day with a knife fight.” He turned his startling blue eyes to Melanie. “Didn’t know there was a woman in the picture, but then, Duff thinks grunts and curse words are the same thing as communication.”
“Who’s Shayla Ortiz?” Melanie asked, sinking onto the tailgate beside Tom, ignoring the innuendo in his brother’s teasing.
“A mistake.” He palmed the back of her neck and pulled her in for a quick, hard kiss. Melanie felt the responding heat creeping up her neck. “Go sit up in the cab of the truck. We won’t be long. I need to chase these guys out of here before someone sees them.” But Melanie was reluctant to move. There had to be a pressing reason for Tom’s brother and handler to risk coming this far onto Fiske land. And that worried her. She could see Tom thinking about repeating the order, but he ended up shaking his head. “Or you could just stay here to get the task-force report and save me the trouble of repeating it.” Soldier Tom with the clipped words and wary posture was back as he walked around to the gear box. He tossed his white shirt to Keir and pulled out a dark colored T-shirt to shrug into. “There’s a sample of Silas Danvers’s blood there. Benton will need it to confirm a match to the blood I found with the guns.”
“Got it.”
“If Benton says we’ve got five minutes, he’ll be back in four and a half. So talk.”
Despite the brotherly repartee they’d shared, Keir wasted no time telling him that Niall had done the autopsy on the body she’d found in Lake Hanover himself. “It’s Richard Lloyd. Dental records match. Death by gunshot wound to the chest, close range. The lake was just the disposal site. Niall says he’s been down there two months.”
Tom paused in the middle of adjusting his shoulder holster across his back to squeeze Melanie’s hand. Even though she’d halfway suspected the truth, they were talking about an old friend of hers, and the details weren’t pretty. “Benton could have told me that. Why are you here?”
But Melanie wanted information, not sympathy. “Tom suspected there was a connection between Richard and your grandfather’s shooting at your sister’s wedding. Did you find evidence to support that?”
“Tom?” Keir seemed more surprised by the name than the fact she knew so many details about their family and Richard’s death. But a glare from big brother sent Keir back into cop mode. “The coat he was wearing, his size and weight—he’s a match for the guy who shot Grandpa. And that belt buckle you described is exactly what I saw on the guy. It’s been identified in court records as belonging to a suspect involved with other shootings. Richard Lloyd is our hit man.”
“Poor SueAnn.” Melanie thought of her friend and how confirmation of her brother being murdered—of being a murderer—could worsen her precarious health. And then she wondered how Tom was handling this news. “I’m sorry the people I know had anything to do with hurting your family.”
He responded with little more than a curt nod. The time for the emotional connection they’d shared tonight had passed. “We found cash confirming Gin Rickey is someone—or the code name for multiple someones—who lives here on the farm. Fiske or Danvers must have hired Lloyd out to do jobs.”
“Any idea who hired him to come after us?” Keir asked.
Tom shook his head. “There might be something in the computer records I sent. They’ll take a while to go through.”
Melanie remembered her earlier encounter with Silas at the main house, when he’d worn the leather gloves. “Silas had a big envelope of some kind he handed to Henry. Could that have been a report—or record of whatever you’re looking for?”
“Danvers doesn’t strike me as someone who’s into filing reports,” Tom pointed out. “Did he say what was in the envelope?”
“Uncle Henry just called it ‘the package,’” she answered. “Silas had been gone a long time. He could have driven into Falls City. Or even Kansas City. Maybe there was cash in that envelope. I never saw inside it.”
“All right, you two.” Matt Benton reemerged from the trees. “Family fun time is over. The coast is clear for now, but can we get back to the business at hand?” He patted the pocket of his jacket. “I’ve got warrants. The judge thought those pictures you sent were enough to okay storming the compound and taking in Fiske, Danvers and anyone else with access to those guns. We’ll seize the boats and vehicles, too, to let the CSIs go over them for trace evidence. The judge didn’t want to wait and give them time to move the merchandise again.”
Tom nodded. “I’ve confirmed they have multiple venues to bring the guns in and out of the area—”
“And multiple hiding places on the property,” Melanie added. “There’s a lot of acreage we haven’t explored yet.”
“We?” Agent Benton angled the brim of his ball cap and studied her as if he’d temporarily forgotten her existence. “Ma’am, if you’ve done anything to compromise this investigation—”
“You wouldn’t have those warrants if it wasn’t for her,” Tom warned. He pocketed two spare magazines of bullets before closing the gear box. “What’s our timeline look like?”
Agent Benton’s threatening expression eased into simply unfriendly. “We’re already blocking off the county highway and access roads, and any decent deputy is bound to report it. Apparently, Sheriff Cobb has been known to tip off Fiske whenever there’s anything suspicious around the farm, so one of my men is keeping Cobb occupied in town going over the autopsy report. We’ll be ready to move in sixty minutes.”
Tom closed the tailgate and glanced down at Melanie before looking back at Keir and Benton. “Get her out of here. I don’t want Mel anywhere near the raid. Make sure your men are well armed and wearing vests. I’ve already got Danvers on multiple counts of assault, and the key players are armed like a military unit. I have a feeling Fiske and his men won’t go quietly. I’ll go keep eyes on the compound to direct where to send in the troops.”
They didn’t have sixty minutes.
The walkie-talkie on Tom’s front seat crackled with static. Instead of parting ways, the three men joined Melanie at the open driver’s window to listen. The static cleared to the sound of a man’s frantic voice. “Duff? Duff—it’s Daryl. What’s yo
ur twenty? Come back.”
“They’re looking for you.” Keir’s eyes narrowed with the same suspicion Tom’s often did. “Could Cobb have already tipped them off?”
Agent Benton swore under his breath. “Could be a setup.”
There was more static before the line cleared to some muttered reassurances. “Duff, this is Daryl. Is Mel with you? I need a medic.”
Melanie opened the door and picked up the radio before anyone could stop her. She pressed the call button. “I’m here, Daryl. What’s the problem? Over.”
“Mel?” He exhaled an audible sigh of relief. “I’m at the infirmary with SueAnn. Her water broke. She’s in labor.”
* * *
“PUT HER IN my truck and let’s go.”
“Go where? Henry and Silas aren’t going to let us drive off down the highway. If they don’t stop us, they’ll at least follow us to make sure we’re going to the hospital, and then they’ll see your roadblock. She certainly can’t hike out through the hills in her condition.” Melanie unwrapped the blood-pressure cuff and jotted down SueAnn’s vitals. They weren’t good. The baby’s heartbeat was strong, but if SueAnn couldn’t start recovering her own pulse and heart rate between contractions, there was no way she’d be able to deliver the baby vaginally before they both suffered irreparable damage or died.
She felt a firm hand on her shoulder and looked up into Tom’s stony expression. “Doc, we can’t stay. My team is en route. I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety here.”
SueAnn had collapsed against the pillow and closed her eyes. Daryl turned to Melanie. “It’s not good, is it?”
She knew he was referring to his wife’s condition, not Tom’s cryptic warning. She wasn’t even sure Daryl had realized how well armed the man standing over them was, or if he understood the covert warnings about the imminent danger. Melanie shook her head. “She’s not strong enough to deliver the baby here. She needs a real doctor.”
