Sweet Danger

by Cheryl Pierson

  "You're what I want, Jesse," she said softly. "Everything I want. Everything I need. Just you…" She moved her hands between them and began to unbutton his Levis. Would he see how scared she was? Could he feel her trembling under him?

  "I'll never let you go, Lindy." A quiet promise, all she needed to hear.

  "Double-edged sword, my love." She met his kiss tenderly, and he lifted his hips to allow her access to his fly. His breath hissed in sharply as her fingertips grazed bare skin, then delved deeper to caress his full length. She smiled up at him, reluctantly releasing him to unzip her own jeans and push them down. "Don't you plan on going anywhere for the next sixty years or so, either."

  "Count on that," he whispered.

  Lindy glanced toward the door. "Do you think they'll come in?"

  Jesse shook his head, his raven hair falling forward. "No. I'm yours until midnight, remember? Hardin's a man of his word." His eyes grew steely. She knew what he was thinking—at midnight, he'd be at Tabor Hardin's mercy. Hardin promised that, too. "Put the chair under the doorknob, if it'll make you feel better," he told her. "Better safe than sorry."

  Lindy nodded. "I'm not as trusting."

  Jesse laughed, moving to let her up. "It's not a matter of trust. I just know the son of a bitch. Still, a little insurance won't hurt."

  Lindy picked up the chair and moved it near the door, putting the top of it beneath the door handle to brace it. Returning to the bed, she slid under Jesse once more. "Where were we?" she asked softly, looking up into his eyes. "Just nervous, I guess."

  "No need to be nervous, Lindy. Not about us."

  His hard length pressed against her, and she opened her legs for him. He bent to brush a kiss across her mouth. She remembered the instant when he'd pushed her to safety under the table, so many hours earlier. She reached for him, guiding him to her. He came inside her, slowly, and she sank her teeth into her lip. He was what she wanted, the man she had waited for. She hoped he understood how much she loved him with this gift—herself. The only thing she had to give him.

  * * * * *

  He stopped, raising obsidian eyes to hers.

  "Lindy—" he breathed. "A virgin?"

  She nodded, quick tears filling her eyes at his dismay. He bent to kiss her, holding himself in check. "I…I didn't know." He took a deep breath, thinking of what he'd said earlier, cursing himself for his none-too-subtle wording.

  She hadn't argued with him or disputed what he said. But now she showed him she was playing for keeps, whether they lived through this, or died together. She was giving him her complete trust, even though she'd read his reaction all wrong, like maybe he didn't want her to be a virgin. She had no way of knowing how much it meant to him, especially in this situation.

  He swallowed hard. "So…I'm the one? You sure?" Dammit. No wonder she was nervous.

  Lindy looked into his eyes. "Are you?"

  He nodded, reaching to smooth back a strand of her hair. "Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "I am. I'm your man." He let himself sink a little deeper and felt her tense beneath him. "Easy, sweetheart. Just try to relax, and it won't hurt so much this first time."

  He felt the gradual loosening of her muscles as she cradled his body in hers. They fit with a slow, gentle slide of silk and steel. He put his mouth over hers, his kiss a tender apology for the pain he would give her. As their lips met, he mated her with his tongue, erasing all thought of hurt, easing the way for the scorching heat of his desire.

  As he surged through the feminine barrier, she whispered his name, her fingers clutching at his skin. Because he was not a novice at the art of making love, he thought of all the things he would like to have given her to make this first time better for her than it was going to be—hot, though rushed; sexy, though hurried; and more painful for her than if he had more time.

  But, still, it was heaven. Heaven in the midst of hell. And she was his now, just as he was bound to her, by this one irrevocable act.

  "No regrets, Jesse," she murmured, close to his neck. "We can't ask for more than this moment."

  He could hear the tears in her voice as he began to move slowly. As the pain gradually receded for her, she met his thrusts, until they were both lost in the firestorm of their love for one another.

  Jesse's body tensed. He tried to throttle down the emotion that washed over him, but he couldn't hold it back—not now. Not locked inside her so deep, fitted so perfectly. "Lindy, I'm so close…" he whispered.

  Her fingers tightened across the rippling skin of his muscled back, holding him to her as he tried to pull out.

  "Lindy…don't…"

  But she wrapped her legs around him, pressing him to her. "You and me, Jesse," she murmured. "Forever." She urged him on with her body. "It's okay—"

  "Not inside." He couldn't give her a child, couldn't take that chance. He wouldn't be around to help raise this one either, if he made her pregnant.

  But Lindy looked up at him with all the love and trust in the world in her eyes. She wanted him, wanted his baby. How could he deny her anything? He'd never been loved so much. It would never come again.

  "Yes. Inside." She put her mouth to his, her kiss searing him. He was lost to her.

  He held still, swallowing back the rest of his protest as his climax washed over him with the tide of Lindy's sweet love. She molded herself to him until he could hold back no longer.

  Completely spent, he lay atop her heavily for a few seconds. He lifted his head as his breathing slowed, looking into her eyes. "You can't want my child."

  His words were quiet, five years of self-condemnation in them. He looked away and moved off her, pulling up and buttoning his jeans. She was quiet, as he pulled her against his hard-muscled frame, ignoring the throbbing of his wounded shoulder.

  Lindy might end up pregnant…unmarried. The least of their worries now. Still, why had she done it? He'd had time to...

  "Why did you do that…at the end?" He gave a self-derisive snort. "Seeing what a wonderful father I am to the one I have already—"

  She turned toward him, burying her face in his neck. "Don't, Jesse. Please."

  He didn't say anymore. They lay silent for a few seconds. In a moment, she looked up at him and laid a hand gently on his cheek. "I know how much you must regret having to give Nash up. You must have second-guessed that decision a million times."

  His lips quirked. "Or two."

  "I promise you, it's going to be good—you and me together."

  He glanced at his watch. "Well, we've only got a couple more hours to find out. I imagine we can have a perfect relationship for that length of time."

  "I'm serious."

  Jesse sighed, kissing the top of her head as she lay back down. "I know you are. I'd like to believe it, too, Lindy. It's what I've always wanted, deep down, I guess. A home, a woman who loves me, two-and-a-half kids, and a dog."

  Lindy smiled, looking up into his face. "Could we have three instead of two-and-a-half? It's that 'half' that kind of throws me for a loop."

  Jesse felt his breath leave him, just looking at the love in her eyes—for him. How had this happened? This crazy miracle that had thrown its mantle around them on the whim of a madman? Would it have happened anyway, eventually, if Tabor Hardin hadn't commandeered the deli? Jesse couldn't help wondering if he was slated to die before he would ever have a chance to grab the brass ring—now that he finally understood where the brass ring was.

  Not brass—a sugar ring. That's how it all began—him being a jump ahead of Lindy in line and the lack of two sugar rings in the pastry case. Now, here they were, planning a life together. A plan, he reminded himself, which could very well be cut short by Hardin's hand in it. But for now, he needed to dream—the sweetest danger of all.

  "As many as you want," he answered quietly.

  Lindy sobered. "You're going to be a great dad, Jesse."

  "You've got a lot of faith."

  "Yeah. About that." She smiled, moving up to put her mouth to his, tasting him with g
entle care. "A wise man once told me that faith is 'sometimes all you have.'"

  "Oh, yeah? Who was that?" He pulled her down to him and kissed her, long and slow and hot, her answer lost between them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hardin sat in the darkness, looking through the broken front window glass. He smoked one cigarette after another, his stash depleting rapidly. No worries. He'd be out of here before much longer. Soon he would have other things to occupy his hands. His thin lips curved up as he thought of the possibilities of what the rest of the night could hold.

  Jesse Nightwalker would be the opener and the closer. And everything in between. He didn't want to waste time on the old bitch or the two uniforms. They were all insignificant, compared to Nightwalker.

  Five years plus he stole from me. Five years in the penitentiary at McAlester. Now, Jesse would pay with his life. But first, Hardin planned to make him beg, make him scream. He smiled in the blackness of the night.

  He planned on one hour of torture for each year Nightwalker had cost him. By 5:00 a.m., there shouldn't be much left of him. Torturing Jesse Nightwalker would be a pleasure. He'd never killed an Indian before. Jesse wasn't full-blooded, but Hardin figured he was enough to count.

  His gaze moved to the children. In the rain-damp void, he could see they were all lying down. The old bitch sat close by. Her eyes were closed as she barely relaxed against the corner. Hardin doubted she was asleep. She was tough, as old as she was. And, she had even managed to keep the brats entertained, fed, and relatively happy.

  All except Jesse's boy. He didn't seem especially happy. He would be a lot unhappier once Jesse was dead. A tiny twinge of guilt worked its way up into his consciousness. He pushed it down quickly. No place for that.

  Still, he had to admit he hated separating a boy and his father. He knew what that felt like. Like Nash, his old man could've been there with him if he'd wanted. It sure made Tabor wonder sometimes.

  Maybe that was why he felt compelled to screw his own sister. He had to have power of some kind. He'd had it over his sister and his mother. His fists knotted, thinking of how his mother had cried over the son of a bitch she'd married. At night, sometimes, he could hear her, when she thought her children were asleep.

  He bit his knuckle, thoughtfully. How often had he wished his own father dead? The rejection was more than he could bear, and every terrible thing he'd become in this world, he owed to his father.

  He watched as Nash stirred fitfully. The boy's mother had been a beauty. His source had gotten his hands on a wedding picture of the happy bride and groom. Hardin kept it in his personal items. It rested in the wallet he'd stolen from a convenience store clerk he murdered yesterday, just outside of Atoka. That was one picture he'd never get rid of as long as he lived. Blonde, blue-eyed Erica Green Nightwalker. He could just imagine what her moneyed family must have thought about her marriage to a half-breed.

  Nash inherited none of his mother's coloring. He was dark and serious, like his father; even down to the quick, easy smile that spread across his face so infrequently. The boy had already lost his mother. Hardin's lips pulled. He wanted to pick his time to tell Jesse about the part he'd played in Erica's suicide. Not that he'd gotten to be present; he'd been busy doing the time Jesse had helped to arrange. He'd hired it done. But, that had been almost as satisfactory.

  What kind of a freak would Nash become if he lost Jesse, too? From what Hardin understood, the child lived with his aunt and uncle and considered them his parents. But now that he knew the truth, he would have to lose Jesse all over again. Although Hardin hated Jesse as he'd never hated another living being besides his own father, Jesse's kid hadn't done anything.

  So, how could he even consider leaving the kid without a father? Uncles were no substitute. He should know. His mother's brother, Dave, had tried to step in once his own father had hit the road and look what he had to show for his efforts. No, a father and son should be together.

  Hardin looked at the clock on the wall, barely able to make out the hands themselves. But the ends of them glowed in the early darkness. Nearly eight o'clock. Old Man Silverman must not have changed one damn thing in all the years he'd been here. That clock had to be at least forty years old.

  He passed a hand across his face. Those little white pills he'd taken earlier were beginning to wear off. He was feeling tired. He would have to end this before all of his false energy deserted him. Twelve hours, they'd been at this game, with another twelve to go to see him and the boys out of here.

  Time to call and see how Lucas was coming with the money. He stood up, walking across the floor to where the corded telephone rested on the counter beside the order pad. He glanced back at the sleeping children once more, his gaze resting on Nash.

  Cute kid. Bright. Pleasant enough. He hated to do it, but he was not going to allow Jesse to leave his boy. They were going to be together, one way or the other. There was no getting around the fact that Jesse Nightwalker was going to die, and die slowly.

  He'd do the boy a kindness, though. He would send him on his way first. One quick shot to the temple. Nash wouldn't know what hit him.

  But Jesse would. Oh, yes. Jesse would.

  * * * * *

  The three police officers held their revolvers over their heads to keep them dry as they swam through the tunnels. Twice, Ryan had felt Bill's huge paw at the collar of his shirt, holding his head above the dirty water. He'd taken Ryan's gun from his nerveless fingers, passing it to Lanham. "You hang onto this now, Brett."

  Brett's teeth chattered due to fear, Ryan's due to fever. Ryan and the young rookie had long since buckled their waterproof flashlights back onto their belts. The three men made their way through the engulfing blackness around them, lit only by Bill's solitary beam.

  "Should be over this way," Bill muttered, steering Ryan to the right after they passed the grate at the intersection corner. The grate directly across the street poured water, too.

  "No," Ryan managed to say. "Not…here. Past the…the other one."

  Bill stopped to get his bearings in the encompassing darkness, his lone flashlight no match for it. "Sure. You're right. We haven't gone far enough." They moved back toward the middle of the tunnel, working their way slowly toward the far grate.

  "Hail Mary full of Grace…" Brett muttered under his breath.

  Bill glanced at Ryan and grinned. "Don't bring Mary down here in this slime, Brett. Leave her be. We don't need her just yet, anyhow."

  Brett fell silent but for the teeth chattering and Bill shook his head. They passed the grate, the water now at their armpits when they stood flat.

  "You know, I been thinkin' Cap." Bill kept his voice low and steady. "What's gonna happen when the water fills up this tunnel?"

  "God, Bill. You have the…the prettiest thoughts sometimes."

  "Somethin' to consider."

  Ryan grimaced. "We'll be there before that happens."

  "God willin' an' the creek don't rise…any more than it already has."

  "Yeah," Ryan muttered. "Well, maybe we better go ahead and bring Mother Mary down here with us for the whole show."

  "Still thinkin' about Jesse?" Wallace didn't wait for a response before he went on. "He'll be okay. That's one who can take care of himself, for sure."

  "Yes. I know. But—he won't. He'll save the others. Sacrifice…himself." It was the one thing Ryan was certain of, and it ate at him.

  Bill stopped, his flashlight beam glancing dimly off the nearby wall, into the darkness ahead of them. Brett ran into his back, nearly unsettling him from his braced stance. He shot Brett an irritated glare in the blackness, but when he turned and caught a full glimpse of the rookie in the dim light, his features softened. "Brett. You okay?"

  Brett started to answer, but couldn't. He glanced down to the frothing dirty water at chest level.

  Ryan could see he was terrified.

  "Come on." Bill started forward again.

  Ryan forced himself to stand, braced, besid
e him as he unbuckled his own flashlight and clicked it on. He peered into the blackness for a side tunnel that might be the one they needed, the one they could use to gain entry to the deli. Seeing Brett reaching with one hand for his flashlight as well, Ryan laid a staying touch on his arm. "Just keep those guns dry, Brett. We'll have enough light without yours. The guns are the most important thing."

  He nodded, and they moved forward again.

  "There!" Ryan said, his beam finding a wall that jutted out oddly down a small side tunnel. "What's that?"

  "Could be it." Bill started that way, followed by his partner. Ryan moved behind them, feeling as if he were trying to run through molasses. His arm felt weighted by the flashlight, but he held it up, trained on the jutting wall a few yards away.

  "Looks like part of the old network," Bill commented.

  Ryan glanced up at the ceiling where it narrowed, the concrete cracked and crumbling in some places.

  "It l-looks like a-a d-door," Brett barely managed to stammer out.

  "Ah, shit!" Bill was close enough now to touch the steel surface.

  "This is it," Ryan murmured, shining his flashlight over to the grates, gauging where he knew the deli to be above them.

  "Wonder if it takes a key to open it? Which we don't have. Just great." Bill laid his balding head on his outstretched arm for a moment.

  "I wonder how many of these retaining doors are down here," Ryan mused. "A whole maze of entrances like this into these businesses, or just this one left from the old days?"

  "We couldn't open it anyhow, with the water this high. The pressure would be too great." Wallace looked at Ryan. "So what now? Go back, while we still can?"

  Ryan shuddered violently in the cold water. There was no point in them being here—not with the water this high. They would have to wait for it to recede before they could even try to open the door. That could take hours. He could see no other way around what they needed to do…to come back later. Later, when it might not even matter at all.