Daddy to the Rescue

by Susan Kearney

  When Jack repocketed his weapon, Kirk didn’t automatically relax. He hadn’t forgotten that another pilot had shown up in Jack’s chopper at the clearing in the woods—and that pilot had shot at them. Kirk needed an explanation for that fiasco, but knew that if the explanation was a lie, Logan would think up a good one.

  Jack quickly closed the chopper door behind them before pointing to a cabinet. “There’s food and water over there. Help yourselves. And ma’am, Logan flew in a new baby car seat. He figured you’d have to leave the other one behind during the trek down the mountain.”

  Logan was thorough and professional and prepared, and he could coordinate hundreds of details, Kirk had to give him that. What other man would remember the baby needed a car seat and would figure out that that piece of gear would, of necessity, be left behind? And every time Jack spoke his boss’s name, his utmost respect came through loud and clear. Even without an explanation, Kirk’s instincts told him to trust these men, but he needed much more than instinct, with Sara’s and Abby’s lives on the line.

  Pepper curled up in the back of the chopper. Sara removed Abby from the sling and buckled her into the seat. “Give Logan my thanks for the car seat.”

  “I will, ma’am. But it’ll have to wait. Logan’s ordered radio silence.”

  Kirk didn’t immediately buckle in. Since no one had appeared to threaten them, he wanted answers—and now was a good time. “Jack, just what the hell is going on?”

  Jack took the pilot’s seat and began a preflight check. “Hold on a sec. I’ll explain after we take off.”

  “You’ll explain now.” Kirk was one second away from pulling out his weapon. But he’d learned the rules of engagement a long time ago. Don’t pull a gun unless prepared to shoot. And he couldn’t help liking Jack Donovan, who’d put down his own weapon after he’d assured himself of Kirk’s identity. The way Jack handled himself, the fact that he’d risked his life to fly Kirk here, elicited trust. But trust only went so far.

  “I do owe you an apology.” Jack fired up the engine and looked back with a sheepish grin. “See this knot behind my ear? I was flying recon and stopped in my usual spot to answer a call of nature, and got conked over the head—that’ll teach me to be so predictable. I woke up to this egg on my head and a long walk back to camp. Someone had stolen my chopper.”

  Truth or fiction? The man did have a knot the size of a lemon behind his ear. And he sounded embarrassed that he’d been outmaneuvered.

  The rotors whirred, and Kirk automatically reached for the headset so they could continue the conversation. He strapped into his seat and handed Sara a headset, too. He believed Jack’s story, but now he had more questions.

  “How’d you get the chopper back?” Sara asked casually, but from Jack’s amused expression, he recognized her suspicion.

  Leave it to Sara to ask the crucial question.

  “After I got coldcocked, Logan sent out a raiding party.” Jack grinned with pleasure. “We stole back our aircraft.”

  “From whom?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand dollar question. It appeared to be a one-man operation and the man fled into the woods. Whoever he is—”

  “Was.”

  “—he’s good.” Jack piloted the chopper smoothly into the air. “Did you say was? He’s dead?”

  “Yeah. I’ll give you the coordinates of his body. Maybe Logan can make an ID.”

  “Was he the same guy who ditched Sara’s plane?”

  Kirk shook his head.

  “Logan believes there’s got to be some high-level guy pulling the strings.”

  “Any proof?”

  “Not that I know of, but Logan’s hunches are incredibly accurate.”

  Kirk had to agree. He’d suspected from the start that more than one person was behind the conspiracy to steal Sara’s work.

  Jack pointed to a compartment. “Open that. Inside is a keyboard that uplinks to encrypted satellite communications.”

  Automatically, Kirk handed the keyboard to Sara. She followed Jack’s instructions, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “Okay, I’m in.”

  She typed in the coordinates of the body—a short burst that wouldn’t be traceable. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.” Jack eased the chopper between two mountains. “Logan’s already made ten different flight reservations out of Denver to California to cover your tracks.”

  “Will we be tailed?” Kirk asked.

  “You never know.”

  “Look, I appreciate additional protection and security, but I don’t want to shoot or lose the wrong man by accident.”

  “It won’t happen,” Jack assured him with such confidence that Kirk dropped the subject.

  Then Jack spoke to Sara. “You still have the software?”

  “Why?” Sara asked her voice even, but wary. Clearly she didn’t trust Jack Donovan.

  “Logan reset your meeting with the government boys for noon tomorrow in Los Angeles.”

  Kirk raised his eyebrow. “Logan did this before we took off? Before we contacted him by the satellite uplink?”

  “He went to work the moment you showed up in camp the first time to swipe the diapers.”

  Kirk knew that getting in and out of that camp unseen had been too easy. However, he couldn’t help but grin. He was good in the woods and he’d seen no one. But he could have been tracked with thermal imagers or other classified electronic devices.

  “And why didn’t Logan come say hello?” Kirk asked, as he accepted a sandwich and drink from Sara.

  “He figured the possibility of someone watching us was too high. Some of the team wanted to go in and help you out after the chopper incident, but Logan insisted that you could get them out by yourself. He didn’t want our team to compromise your safety.”

  Logan had figured pretty damn well. He’d trusted Kirk to protect Sara and Abby, to get them safely down the mountain—and he had. Kirk couldn’t help being impressed with Logan Kincaid’s operation, his leadership or his team. He recalled Logan’s offer to join them. A few years ago, he might have jumped at the opportunity, but now, he had other concerns.

  Like Sara. And Abby. As they flew toward civilization, he could feel Sara rebuilding the walls he’d torn down. She was pulling away, preparing for him to leave.

  While Logan had made plane reservations for all of them to go to Los Angeles, Kirk would bet the cash in his pack that sometime soon Sara would suggest they split up in Denver, that he fly back to Michigan. However, Kirk had no intention of leaving Sara and Abby to strangers—he didn’t care how good Logan’s team was.

  If Logan and Kirk both figured that the men might again try to steal Sara’s software, then the possibility had to be high. The danger enormous.

  IT SEEMED TO SARA that the transition back to civilization occurred almost as quickly as the plane crash. The swift helicopter trip to Denver, followed by a flight to California, gave Sara time to dismantle her computer in the rest room. She hid the hard drive with her program inside her jacket pocket and returned to her seat with her laptop. Although she didn’t believe they were being followed, her enemies knew where she was going.

  The limo ride to the hotel left her too exhausted to think beyond taking care of Abby. Luckily Logan had planned their itinerary to the nth degree, leaving neither their comfort nor Abby’s to chance.

  Logan had reserved a hotel suite for them that included three bedrooms, two with king-size beds and private baths, the third with a crib, playpen and stroller for Abby. The suite came stocked with diapers, changes in clothing for all of them, Internet connections and even dog food for Pepper.

  Before Sara could say “room service,” a maid knocked on the door. A frumpy, peach-shaped middle-aged maid in a form-fitted uniform entered with a cart of linens, stacks of fresh towels and chocolate mints meant for the pillows when she turned down the beds at night.

  “I’m Milly and I’ll be taking care of your rooms for the next few days. If you want anything, merely call
the front desk. Security is guarding the suite, so you folks can relax.” The friendly woman handed Kirk a key. “For the minibar.”

  “Thanks.”

  Milly carried the towels from her cart into the bathroom. When she returned she spied Abby playing with Pepper. “They’re adorable together.”

  Sara hoped Kirk gave the maid a big tip, though didn’t have the energy to even ask. She longed for a shower, but first Abby needed feeding and a bath. Afterward, Sara placed Abby in the crib. The baby cried a little, fussing but not protesting enough for Sara to be concerned.

  Smelling lightly of spicy aftershave, Kirk entered the room and picked up Abby, rocking her against his chest. Abby stared at his black hair, damp and curling at the collar after his shower, his jaw smooth from a fresh shave, and hesitantly stopped fussing.

  “She sometimes cries just a little before she falls asleep,” Sara told him.

  “Let me rock her to sleep, Sara. I’ve already showered, go on and take yours. I’ll stay with Abby until she falls asleep.”

  Sara could tell he really wanted to rock Abby to sleep, and she was too tired to argue. If Kirk wanted to play daddy for a few hours, she saw no harm in his actions. As he reached for their daughter, Abby trusted him, snuggling in his arms and cooing with delight.

  “Daddy,” Kirk told her. “Say Daddy, little girl.”

  “Good girl?” Abby smiled at him proudly. “Good girl?”

  “Da-da,” he insisted.

  Sara left them to their conversation and headed straight for the bathroom. A huge glass shower stood in one corner, a tub filled with jets in another. Much too dirty to consider soaking, she adjusted the faucets, intending to stand under the hot water for as long as it took to feel clean. The hotel had supplied assorted shampoos, conditioners and soaps. A thick terry robe hung on the back of the door, with slippers nearby.

  She shed her clothes and avoided looking into any mirrors. Wanting to wash away days of dirt and sweat and grime before she caught sight of herself, she was grateful for the fog that clouded her reflection.

  Sara stepped into the immaculate shower. Letting the hot water sluice over her skin seemed the ultimate luxury. She reached for the shampoo and did a quick wash, fully intending to treat herself to a second, more thorough shampoo. But first she lathered the soap and tackled the top layer of grime. She found a razor and shaved her legs and under her arms, almost feeling human again.

  Eyes closed, she was reaching for the shampoo again when the cool air of the open glass door alerted her to Kirk’s presence. She opened her eyes and looked at him naked for the first time in almost a year and a half.

  “Didn’t you already shower?”

  “Not with you.”

  Her pulse fluttered and the moisture in her mouth suddenly disappeared. She recalled running her fingers over his broad chest through crisp curls, enjoying the sensitivity of his nipples responding to a tweak and a nibble. If she reached out and stroked him with her palms, his skin would feel warm and hard, so different from hers and yet so right. And she ached to feel his heart beating sure and strong and swift, making her feel powerful and feminine and very much alive.

  Broad-shouldered and muscular, somehow larger and more male than she remembered, he reached for the shampoo, his voice husky. “Let me wash your hair.”

  She stalled. Why couldn’t she just have this one night, enjoy him one more time? They were both single adults. Experience told her that their coming together now would make the separation tomorrow much more difficult. But she wanted him.

  She stalled some more. “Abby?”

  “She’s asleep and Pepper’s curled up under her crib.”

  He shut the shower door behind him, sure of his welcome. Damn him. He knew she wanted him. He’d come to her when she was simply too tired to fight her own needs and him, too. She registered the thought and accepted the consequences in a heartbeat. After almost dying on that mountain, she couldn’t deny herself the comfort of his touch or the pleasure of his hands on her body. She craved him. All of him.

  A glance at his straining sex told her quite clearly that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She hadn’t made love in so long that the need pounded in her, but she controlled that need with the experience of a woman.

  They were two adults who’d made love many times and knew one another’s bodies well. Yet the absence of lovemaking for so long kept her trembling with anticipation. Her nipples puckered and moisture beaded between her legs, her physical responses way ahead of her churning emotions.

  She’d turned her back to him, giving him easy access to her hair. Kirk had yet to touch her. From her peripheral vision, she watched him pour shampoo into his palm, and then with clever fingers he worked a lather over her scalp.

  He leaned close, his chest caressing her back, his hips cradling her bottom. “You smell so good.”

  “I already washed once,” she admitted, groaning as his fingers massaged her head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever feel clean again.”

  “We can stay under the hot water as long as you like. Until your fingertips prune,” he teased. “Or until the hotel’s hot water runs out.”

  “Does that happen?”

  “You want to find out?”

  She tipped her face to the streaming water and rinsed the shampoo from her hair. She began to turn around, but his hand clasped her waist. “Conditioner?”

  She wanted to tell him to screw the conditioner. To screw her, instead. Now that she’d made up her mind to make love, her body had jump-started with a shock to her system that was already building toward orgasm. Kirk had always had this effect on her. He barely needed to touch her before she was raring to attack him, which was why she’d been so careful to keep her distance—but that hadn’t worked.

  Usually she let him set the pace. But tonight her impatience got the best of her. She turned, lifted her chin and tugged his mouth down for a kiss. Calmly, he nibbled on her lips, while continuing to thread the conditioner through her hair.

  She pursed her lips. “Kiss me, damn you.”

  “I am,” he teased, lightly biting her bottom lip.

  Heart thudding in anticipation, she tugged his head closer. “Harder.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He kept nibbling.

  “Kiss me, Kirk. Hold me tight.”

  His arms closed around her, dragging her against him, the slick rinse causing her breasts to slip and slide against his chest in satiny and sensuous circles that elevated her pulse and caused her to rise on tiptoe to anchor her mouth to his. He tasted of toothpaste, smelled of aftershave, felt like paradise.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Making love doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Right.”

  She wrapped her legs around his hips. “Tomorrow we go our separate ways.”

  “Umm.”

  She reached down to take him inside her. “Making love doesn’t change our relationship.”

  “Uh-huh.” He twisted away from her hands. “Hold on a sec.” Carrying her, he opened the shower door, reached into the pocket of his robe that was hanging there, pulled out a condom and held it up in triumph.

  “Hurry,” she demanded, biting his neck, impatient to have him inside her, but not the least bit surprised he’d had the forethought to bring a condom. Whether in the wilds or the bedroom or the shower, Kirk prided himself on his preparation, and she’d come to count on that.

  He braced strong legs. “Hold still or I’ll never get the package open.”

  “Here, let me.” She released one hand from around his neck and slipped a little. He tried to support her by holding her bottom. Their hands collided, and for a moment she felt the foil packet, then the slippery foil slid between her fingers and fell to the shower floor. She peered over his arm at the still-sealed packet as it swirled toward the drain. “Damn.”

  He half chuckled, half groaned, then suggested huskily in her ear, “If you would unwrap your legs from my waist, you could climb down and pick up the pack
et.”

  Frustration and urgency warred with logic and necessity. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “And I don’t want to make you pregnant. Again.”

  She rubbed her full breasts against his chest, enjoying the hard feel of him against her sensitive nipples, wondering if she could entice him into changing his mind. “Lactating mothers aren’t supposed to ovulate.”

  He gasped at the sensations she’d created by rubbing against him, but frowned down at her. “Are you saying you can’t get pregnant?”

  Tightening her legs around him for support, she reached for his sex, attempting to put him inside her. “I’m saying another pregnancy is unlikely at this time.”

  “I’m not taking that chance.”

  “Fine.” She loved it when he went all protective on her. She cocked her head, challenging him. “And I’m not letting go.”

  “Then I…have two…choices.” He spoke from between gritted teeth. “I can try to lower us to the floor…without falling.”

  “Or?”

  “I can carry you…into the bedroom…where I have more condoms.”

  “Your choice.” She bit his shoulder as cold water rained down her back. “However, you might want to hurry.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We just ran out of hot water.”

  She opened the shower door. He cupped his hands under her bottom and stalked into the bedroom next to the room where the baby slept in her crib. Abby didn’t make a peep, and Pepper didn’t come to investigate—even after Kirk toppled Sara onto the bed and she shrieked.

  “You’re getting the covers all wet.”

  “So I’ll sleep in your room.”

  “Who said anything about sleep?” She looked over his shoulder to the open box on the nightstand. “You only have five condoms?”

  He grinned at her, then ripped open a packet. “If we get desperate, there’s still one left on the bathroom floor.”

  Heat burned through her. She wanted her hands back on his flesh, her mouth on his. “Will you quit talking and put that on already?”