by Lora Leigh
Nik lifted his head from the truck he was working on, stared at the bottle, then Noah, before his gaze moved to the office doorway.
Noah jerked around and she stood there, staring at him, her gray eyes bleak and filled with pain.
This was one of the reasons why he couldn’t stay. This. This burning need to rip apart anyone who had hurt her. The rage that blazed inside him, that tore away logic and control, that left him either tasting blood or tasting lust. Sometimes, he swore he could taste the need for both. At the same time.
She licked her lips slowly and moved from the doorway, coming toward him. Her face was pale, her eyes dark gray diamonds at they glittered with tears.
She stopped in front of him and simply leaned her head against his chest. That quickly the rage burned out. His arms came around her, and behind the hood of the car sheltering them, he jerked her to him, holding her. Holding her, and screaming inside. Because honest to God, he didn’t know if he could let her go.
“Back to work.” He stepped back.
Noah pushed his fingers through his hair and fought to get a hold on the feeling of betrayal he felt at hearing Grant’s opinion of Sabella.
He’d asked only one thing of his father. In more than a decade, only one thing. If anything happened to him, protect Sabella. Take care of her. And Grant had sworn he would. He had lied. He had let Sabella suffer. He’d done everything he could to run her out of her home and out of the business Nathan had left to her.
He shook his head and went back to his job. He pushed thoughts of Grant Malone to the back of his mind, to deal with later. And he would be dealing with his father later, there was no doubt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two hours later Noah stood in the closed office, his jaw clenching in rage as he held the secured cell phone to his ear and listened to Jordan’s report.
“Delbert Ransome was released on order of Federal Judge Carl Clifford, Houston, Texas,” Jordan reported. “Federal Marshal Kevin Lyle arrived at the airport an hour ago on a private flight, carrying the orders. He’s taken over the investigation on the feds’ end.”
“And what do the feds think of this?” Noah asked carefully.
“My contacts are screaming,” Jordan bit out. “Judge Clifford released Ransome on the fly-by-night excuse that Ransome’s truck had been stolen and missing for several days around the time of the death. Good ole Delbert just didn’t report it because he was drunk at the time, and by the time he sobered up, they found the truck parked in one of the pastures. He thought maybe he’d just parked it in the wrong place.”
Noah snorted at that.
“No shit. My opinion too,” Jordan grunted. “We have the leads we need though. We don’t have to play by the rules here, Noah. Our orders are to stop this, no matter what we have to do.”
No matter who they had to kill. Noah didn’t balk at killing when it was needed, but he’d like to have a little bit of proof before he pulled the trigger or wielded the knife.
“We’ll set up watch,” he told Jordan quietly. “I’ll put Travis back in place. We’ll get what we need.”
“I’m running background on the names you gave me and Tehya’s running probables and pulling in satellite time for the area. Watch your ass. When it hits, we’ll have to move fast.”
They were watching. Waiting. The next hunting party that went out would have a few surprises waiting for them.
“Did they get anything during interrogation?” Noah asked, watching through the wide square window of the door into the garage where Sabella was running a computer diagnostic on the sports car she was working on.
She was sweaty, greasy, her hair was escaping her ponytail, and she was the sexiest damned thing he had ever seen in his life.
“Nada. He didn’t say shit. Didn’t even ask for a lawyer. Just sat there and stared at the interrogators until the order came through on his release. Then, the bastard smiled.”
He’d known he was covered. Whoever operated in those hunting parties knew their asses were covered. Noah nodded slowly, plotting.
“We’ll cover high cards of interest,” he told Jordan, letting him know someone would be on the federal marshal in town.
“Someone needs to get that sheriff out of the game while they’re at it.” Jordan said. “I hear he almost threw a punch at the marshal. He left the office in a rage. Apparently, there was a leak in information. Word came down the line that physical evidence was collected before the arrest. And it seems it might have come through his office, and back out of it. He threw his deputy out the door, sent his secretary home, and locked up the office. No one’s seen him since.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed. It might be time to talk to the sheriff.
“I’ll lay out the deck,” he told Jordan, indicating he would place the members of the team where they needed to be. “I have priority here, and we’re searching for the missing.” For Chuck Leon, who Noah was beginning to suspect was more than a mechanic, or even a militia plant.
“We’re tracking for the leak,” Jordan promised him. “We should have it soon and you can bet the sheriff is searching as well. I’ll update you as I have more.”
Noah closed the cell phone slowly and continued to stare at Sabella.
She brushed back a wisp of hair and left a smear of grease at her temple.
She was damned good in that garage. She didn’t do auto body work, but she was mean as hell on a car motor. He’d seen the auto manuals at the house, knew she kept up with the latest reports, standards, and trends. She had even signed herself and Rory up for classes in Odessa on the new crossover vehicles.
His perky little wife was a tomboy and he had never known it. She was strong, resilient, and she was slowly moving away from the memory of the man that had loved her with every part of his soul.
She had taken a lover. It didn’t matter that her lover had also been her husband, and she didn’t know. She had exorcised her husband’s ghost in her bedroom, in her home, and in his pickup truck.
He lowered his head and stared at his oil-stained work boots. She’d moved on. He didn’t have the right to change that. Once he left this time, she might shed a few tears, but she’d pull herself up, and she would find someone who deserved her. Someone whole. Without demons. Without a past to hide or hell burning just behind his back.
His head jerked up as Rory stalked into the office and closed the door. The boy was still pissed off. Closed, set expression. His eyes burning in pure anger, he tossed Noah a half sneer before he glanced out the window into the shop.
Sabella was watching Noah. Noah had felt that look, had kept his head down, almost afraid to meet her eyes.
Rory turned back from the door and glared at Noah. “If you leave her again, don’t come back.”
Noah rubbed at his jaw before shaking his head slowly. “Do your job, Rory. Stop bitching at me.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the old man, piss off,” he retorted. “And wrap those damned fingers around my neck again and I’m going to Grandpop.”
“You sound like a ten-year-old,” Noah snorted.
“If it works use it,” Rory muttered, grabbed a clipboard, and headed back into the convenience store.
Noah wanted to grin. Rory wasn’t above tattling and Noah knew it. He’d have to kill him to keep his mouth shut if the boy was determined to go to Grandpop.
Damn. Grandpop. Sabella. Rory. He shook his head. What the fuck was he doing? What the hell made him think he could do this and still survive walking away?
Because he was a fucking fool.
They closed the garage at seven. Business had been steady through most of the day, with only occasional lulls. The gossip running through town and hitting every business was high. Most of it made it to the garage; what didn’t, had been picked up in town as Nik and Micah made their way through it. Travis was watching the Patrick ranch house, where, surprise surprise, Federal Marshal Kevin Lyle had arrived late that afternoon with Delbert Ransome.
Chuck
Leon was still missing and Rick Grayson was locked in his office going through files and on the phone yelling, it was rumored, and demanding answers about the leaked information.
Noah could feel the mission brewing now, a sixth sense warning him that something was getting ready to hit.
As he walked into the house ahead of Sabella, his senses seemed ultraalert, each speck of dust, each crack in the hardwood floors remembered, as he went through the house, checking it out.
As he returned downstairs it was to find Sabella sitting in the chair by the door. Like she used to do. But she wasn’t filing her nails or watching television. She was staring at the floor and twisting the wedding band she had slid back to her marriage finger.
She was frowning at it, glaring at it. Twisting it on her finger as though trying to figure out exactly what it was doing there.
“Everything’s clear.” He stepped from the stairs before turning and heading into the kitchen. “I could use some dinner. How do you feel about pizza?”
He stepped into the kitchen, his gaze caught again by that damned bottle of what used to be a hundred-year-old wine. Hell, he had been saving that for the day they paid off the mortgage on the house and garage. He’d gotten it for a song. Traded it for a ’57 Chevy he’d rebuilt for a collector for next to nothing.
Beside it was the bottle of wine she and Kira had polished off. He didn’t wince, but at one time, he probably would have pulled his hair out. His lips quirked at the thought of it as he felt Sabella step into the kitchen behind him.
“Making awful free use of my house now, aren’t you?” she asked him as he grabbed the cordless up from the kitchen handset and punched in the number taped to the wall beside it. Evidently, Sabella ordered pizza often.
“What do you want on your pizza?” He paused before hitting the button to dial it in.
The look she shot him was mocking. “Anything including the kitchen sink.” She shrugged.
At least that hadn’t changed over the years.
He hit the dial button, gave the order, and then disconnected. He lifted one of the bottles and turned back to her.
“Have more of these?”
She glanced at the bottle, then back at him. “Plenty. My husband collected them.”
“We could share one with the pizza,” he suggested.
She frowned at the bottle as he set it back on the counter.
“They’re in the basement.” She pointed to the door. “Pick out whatever you like.”
There was one in particular he wanted to sip from her body. A light-bodied, priced-out-the-ass vintage he’d been saving for something extraspecial. Their twentieth anniversary. Their first child. But he’d always meant to share it with her. He fully intended to share it with her.
“Don’t open the door,” he warned her.
She rolled her eyes. “I had no intention of it.”
He nodded and moved to the basement, opening the door and stepping down the wooden stairs he had built himself.
He looked around the open, well-lit basement. There were few things stored there. The cover over his pool table was dusty, the heavy wooden wine shelves were shadowed, the bottles covered with a layer of dust as well.
It was obvious Sabella didn’t get down here very often. Not that he had expected her to. This had been his area, a place she’d seemed to understand he needed to get things in perspective sometimes.
He chose the bottle of wine, stared at the label, and felt that slicing pain in his chest again. There were nearly two dozen bottles of vintage wines. He’d started collecting them before he was old enough to be legal. He’d traded for them, bargained for them, lucked into a few. And each one had significance. Each one he’d planned the date or event to open.
He turned around and took another good look at the basement, watching as Sabella stepped into the doorway and stared down at him.
Her face was in shadow, but he could feel the worry that seemed to wrap around her.
“I haven’t cleaned it,” she said softly as he moved back up the stairs. “The basement, that is.”
He strode up the steps as she backed up into the kitchen, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps I should.”
“It’s a basement. Doesn’t look like you use it much.”
“No,” she answered. “I don’t use it much.” She shook her head before turning away from him. “I need to shower.”
Sabella moved upstairs quickly, her hand pressed to her stomach as she fought back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
She could do this, she told herself. She could handle this, and she could live through whatever happened if he left her. If. She was holding on to the prayer that he wouldn’t. It was the only thing keeping her sane at this point.
The pizza was good, the half bottle of wine they consumed with it was ambrosia. Despite the fact it was the middle of summer, Sabella lowered the air conditioner, and lit a small fire in the fireplace.
They ate the pizza in front of the fire, the chill of the AC whispering around them while the warmth of the fire heated them.
After eating, they dragged the heavy pillows from the back of the couch and stretched out on the floor. It was quiet, easy. And she wasn’t surprised that Noah’s head ended up in her lap. It was normal. This was how they had always ended up on cold winter nights. His head in her lap, her fingers playing through his hair.
Did he remember? she wondered. As he stared into the fire, his hands folded on his stomach, did he remember the nights they had shared, doing just this?
And other things.
She grinned at that thought. The fires they had built in that fireplace had seen a lot of loveplay. Nights they had spent just touching, just holding. Nights they had spent consuming each other, devouring sighs, kisses, and passion.
She stared down at him, watching his eyes, the flames reflecting in the wild blue, his lashes lowered slumberously. Her gaze drifted down his body and felt the familiar flexing of her womb at the sight of the heavy bulge beneath his jeans.
“Do you stay aroused?” Her voice was quiet, almost amused as she asked the question.
His head turned, his eyes staring into hers. “If you’re around, I’m hard,” he admitted ruefully. “I think you’re a bad influence on me, Sabella. You encourage wild, wicked thoughts.”
“Really? What kind of wild, wicked thoughts?”
He shifted, sat up, and turned to her.
“Thoughts of how sweet and wet you get for me.” His hand cupped her cheek, his fingers threading through the hair at the side of her face. “Thoughts of taking you, fucking you until you’re screaming my name, over and over again.”
“Been there,” she whispered, leaning back against the pillow behind her. “You’ve already done that.”
“Hm, I have, haven’t I?” He lowered his head, touched his lips to hers. “Maybe it bears repeating.”
His kiss. She moaned against his lips, felt him sinking into her with that kiss, making love to her lips, her mouth, tasting her, drawing her inside him.
Sabella wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her nails digging into them as he came over her.
It was another memory, another moment in time to hold on to. She felt his hand caress up her thigh, beneath the light summer lounging dress she had worn.
The silky material slid up her thighs easily, pooling just below her hips as he drew back from her.
Firelight flickered over his body as he rose to his feet. He’d showered earlier, dressed in clean jeans and shirt. Those were disposed of quickly, leaving him naked, his bronzed flesh shimmering with the soft light of the flames, his cock jutting out from his body, heavily veined, the crown dark.
“Your turn.” He knelt beside her, gripped the hem of her dress, and drew it off her body.
She wore panties, no bra. She wore her ankle bracelet and her wedding band.
She was married. Fuck him. Screw whatever reasons he had for hiding who he was from her, she was still his wife. For now. For now, she was
Sabella Malone, and he, he was Nathan Malone. A ghost. A vision from the past with another face, another name, but still the man she loved.
“Kiss me.” She stretched out against the thick, incredibly soft rug that covered the floor in front of the fireplace.
Pushing the pillows out of the way, she arched her back and saw the surprise that flickered in his eyes.
“Where?” His lips tilted with wicked eroticism.
“Right here.” She tapped her lips with a finger. “We’ll discuss other areas as we go.”
His brows arched, and the temerity she showed obviously pleased him. He came down beside her, one hand gripping her hip, turning her to him.
“I won’t break,” she told him with a light laugh. “Kiss me, Noah. Kiss me right.”
His eyes flared, darker, wilder.
“And what is right?” His voice was rougher, more guttural.
“Have you ever dreamed of a kiss? Dreamed of it, and ached to live that dream?”
“Every time I’ve dreamed of kissing you.” His thumb brushed over her lips.
“Kiss me like that. Like you dream.”
His hand tightened on her hip. Some emotion raged in his eyes, and then he was kissing her as he had never kissed her before. He braced himself over her, touching her with nothing but his lips, his tongue. Deep kisses. His lips slanted over her, and he kissed her with a desperation and a hunger that tore straight through her soul.
All the pent-up dreams, lonely nights aching for him, the nightmares that left her gasping, screaming for him, all of it went into the kiss she returned to him.
She didn’t touch him any other way. Her nails dug into the rug beneath her, she felt his body tensing above her. They made love with their mouths. With their tongues. They licked and stroked and desperate moans filled the air as the need rose, blazed inside them.
