by Geri Krotow
He maneuvered the truck around a tight turn before he pulled over to the shoulder and put it in Park. Kyle turned to fully face her, and the sense of comfort she’d started to feel shattered in the face of the sheer power he exuded. From his eyes that missed nothing to his hands that had held her, saved her twice today, to his athletic physique, Kyle King embodied competence and awareness.
“What do you know about ROC, Portia?” Kyle spoke the words with deadly precision, keeping his voice low and purposeful. Gone was the man who’d told her she could trust him. In his place, a predator.
“What’s not to know? I read that ROC is fighting a huge battle with local LEAs, all up and down the Eastern Seaboard. Since Silver Valley is in the midst of the logistical hub for the East Coast, it was only a matter of time before ROC’s crime affected our town.” As she spoke, she noticed that he sat back a bit, his shoulders relaxed.
And he let out a low belly laugh.
“What’s so freaking funny, Kyle?” She was almost too tired to get angry at his response. Almost.
He shook his head. “You read about it. The article in the Silver Valley View, am I right?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. I admire how well-informed you are. And for the record, that article is about 95 percent accurate.”
“What’s the 5 percent that’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong. Not at all. But they’re missing some crucial facts that are classified. Only SVPD and folks like myself are in on the most critical facts.”
That made sense. And frankly, she didn’t want to know the other facts the paper hadn’t had. Although—
“Don’t even bother asking me, Portia.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you anything.” She bit her lip, angry at herself for showing her thoughts so obviously that he’d read her expression. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I wanted to tell you that I lost a high school friend to a heroin overdose just before the holidays. It hasn’t even been three months yet. I hold ROC responsible for making it so easy for her, and the other victims of this awful scourge, to get the drugs. Not to mention how they cut them with lethal ingredients like fentanyl.”
“I’m sorry, Portia.”
“Keeping my community the safe place I’ve always known it to be is what matters to me.”
“That’s what I’m here for, too.” He stared at her and she was immediately aware of being alone with him, on the abandoned road, in the dark. If she wanted to run, she’d never make it back to town before getting hypothermia. They were at least five miles out into the countryside.
“Why are we stopped?”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Portia.” Low and seductive, his voice circled her mind, set parts of her on fire that she’d neglected since breaking up with Rob. But even after a good bit of foreplay, Rob had never lit her up the way Kyle did.
“Then why have you parked here?”
“I had to make sure we weren’t followed.” He hesitated and she knew he was holding something back. Maybe one of those confidential facts he’d mentioned?
“What happened to the person who tried to break into the homeless shelter? Why were they doing that?”
He sighed. It wasn’t just an expulsion of air into the interior. It was as if Kyle wrapped years of longing into his breath, his sigh.
“This morning, when I, ah, shoved you off the tracks—the woman whom you were chasing is a suspected ROC thug. That’s more information than I should be telling you, but you asked, and you’ve done your research.” A quick flash of white as he grinned. “My concern then, and now, is that she would come back for you. You identified her, saw her face-on behind the library and then on the tracks.”
“That’s crazy! I saw her, yes, but she had a ski mask on. I could never in good conscience identify her or have a reliable sketch made of her.” Portia’s heart began to pound, partially from the fear of being stalked by such a dedicated criminal, and by her growing awareness of being alone with Kyle King. The man was vouched for by Josh, so he was safe, trustworthy. And she’d known that at her gut level, anyhow. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t have put himself at risk to save her, twice.
Kyle looked through the windshield as if soaking in the view. When his gaze reclaimed hers, she knew he’d been preparing to give her the news no civilian ever wants to hear.
“Portia, you can’t go back to your apartment in town. It’s not safe. The fact that you were tracked to the homeless shelter tells me that the ROC thug wants you off their radar.”
“Off—as in dead, you mean.” She swallowed. “This is unexpected.”
His expression changed from the professional whatever-he-was law enforcement person to something far more approachable. Too easy to interpret.
Kyle looked like he cared.
“I know this has to be tough on you. But it’ll be a lot more than tough if you wind up dead, another victim of ROC and its attempt to use Silver Valley as its playground.”
“So ROC picked Silver Valley as its headquarters in this area?” She’d read the articles thoroughly, and while they stated that ROC’s various criminal activities were embedded in central Pennsylvania, she couldn’t get her mind wrapped around her hometown being overtaken by organized crime.
“Headquarters is too strong of a word. As a main hub, yes. And...” She watched his mouth close, his generous lips thin from the pressure of his thoughts. Disappointment flared deep in her belly. Until she saw the moonlight hit his eyes and illuminate his pupils, dilated against his silver irises. Her regret turned to anticipation as quickly as a flame engulfed dried paper.
Kyle wanted her, too.
Chapter 6
Kyle wasn’t a rookie when it came to wanting a woman, and he sure as hell knew when he needed to turn and walk away. But that had been before, with other women. Portia was different. Kyle could fight the erection that strained his battered jeans, he could ignore the heat that ignited each time he set eyes on Portia. And who was he kidding? The warmth that Portia stoked in him lasted all day, hours after he’d been around her.
But breathing the same air as her in the confines of the old truck’s front seats made being anything but a human being, aware of every single nuance in her expression, impossible.
Kyle leaned in to kiss her, watched her eyes soak him up, her gaze settle on his lips—
A hard tug on the top of his head halted him mid-motion.
“What the—” He reached up to discover his wig had caught on the rim of the cab’s sunroof. “Fuuuuudge.”
Portia’s giggle startled him. It was the first time he’d seen her react without reservation or the guard she kept up around him. And while he knew her defensive stance was important to her well-being, and he in fact would be the first to encourage it, he still reveled in the warmth that rushed over him.
“Who would guess that a wig would save me from a huge mistake?” He spoke his thought aloud: an even bigger mistake. The wariness was back in her eyes and she shrank against the passenger door.
“I’m not used to being referred to as a ‘mistake.’” Challenge emanated from her deep brown eyes.
“Portia, it’s not you—it’s me.”
She snorted. “I’ve heard that one before. Look, spare us both and cut to the chase. Where are we going? I’ll need to stop at my place to pack. That’s what you’re getting at, right? That I can’t be seen in town for a few days or I’ll be killed by some ROC thug.”
His breath escaped in a sharp exhale, as if he’d been gut-kicked. It didn’t surprise him, though, that the woman in front of him was incredibly perceptive.
“You’re awfully astute and adaptable for a civilian.”
“Don’t you mean ‘for a librarian’?”
“No, I didn’t mean that at all.” He removed the wig, scratched his head. His hair was close-cropped but it still itche
d after having a synthetic cap with dirty nylon atop it. “You’re remarkable. You went after Mar—that woman without a second thought, all to get the laptop back for the library. It wasn’t the smartest move from a safety standpoint, but it took guts.” And an excellent level of physical fitness that agents worked hard to maintain. “Are you sure you’re not in law enforcement, too?”
She fought it for a second before the grin split her face. “Not at all, but do you think I could be?”
He laughed, more from relief that she was conversing with him, letting go of his stupid comment about the almost-kiss being a mistake. “You’re certainly strong and fit enough for it. But working in law enforcement has to be a passion. Like your community work.”
“How do you know what my passion is?”
She’d caught him.
“I, er, had to run a background check on you when I began surveillance on the library.”
She straightened up, leaned in toward the dash, toward him, watched him closely. “And when, exactly, was that?”
“A month ago.”
“Son of a...” She trailed off and he swore he heard the synapses firing in her brain. “That’s why your eyes looked so familiar. But I didn’t recognize you on the tracks. Or rather, off them.”
“A good thing. It’s my job to stay under the radar.”
“Why wasn’t I told there was a case going on right under my nose? I didn’t have to know all the details, but maybe I could have helped.”
“Which is why we don’t tell civilians more than absolutely necessary. You said yourself you read exposes on ROC and how we’re fighting it in Silver Valley and all of Harrisburg. It’s difficult to know who to trust. And there’s no reason to bring innocent civilians into a potentially lethal case. That’s what we’re trying to avoid.”
“Who else besides you has been watching the library?”
He shrugged, tried to appear as nonchalant as possible. And knew he was utterly failing in front of her. What was it with Portia? He’d lied and gotten away with his undercover disguises in front of other people close to him over the years. Yet Portia had immediately pegged him in the homeless shelter, and she didn’t take any of his standard lines now. Portia was different.
“SVPD has plainclothes officers circulate through, and there may be other...contract employees like me who keep an eye on things.” He wasn’t about to reveal anything about Trail Hikers, or any specifics.
“Fair enough. I imagine you’ll let me know if you’re FBI or another agency when you realize you can trust me.” She sniffed and he glanced at the dashboard clock.
“We’ve got to go.” He was certain no one had followed them out here, and he was safe to go back to his apartment. “I have a place for you to stay tonight, but then you’ll need something more long-term.”
“What? I can’t miss work.”
“You have no choice. You show up at the library or anywhere in town right now, you risk being killed. ROC doesn’t screw around, Portia.”
“But what about my purse, my clothes? I need my contacts, my prescriptions—”
“I’ll take care of that. I can take care of the shelter and get your purse, phone, whatever.” He’d send in an undercover cop or ask a favor from another TH colleague. “You mentioned that Annie is your best friend? We can ask Josh to go with her to your apartment and pack a suitcase. You’re looking at two to four weeks of hiding out, Portia.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous. In this day and age, with all the technology available, can’t SVPD put a security camera or two in my apartment, have a patrol keep an eye on my place? You already said the library’s being watched.”
“We’re keeping surveillance on it. And yet you still were almost killed yesterday, because of your judgment that you could catch a thief.” He turned to face the steering wheel and shifted the car into gear. “Trust me, Portia, you’re going to thank me for this when it’s all said and done.”
And he vowed she would thank him. That he wouldn’t screw it all up by letting his dick call the shots around her.
* * *
Portia took in Kyle’s small apartment atop Silver Valley’s favorite coffee shop, Cup o’ Joe’s. “I never knew this apartment existed, and I’ve lived here my entire life.” And he’d been living in the building next to hers.
“So you remember when the coffee shop, this building, was a bank?”
“I do.” She watched him, wondered how long he’d been here. How had she overlooked him in the library? The air throbbed with the pure masculinity radiating off him and created a potent sexual aura she found difficult to ignore.
In fact, she’d done anything but ignore it since he’d held her in his arms after saving her life this morning.
“Holy crap,” she said to herself as she sipped the weak tea he’d made her. He’d boiled the water in a mug in his microwave and she’d used one of her teabags that she’d stuck in her pocket for the shelter.
“What?”
“It’s only been twelve hours since we met. Since that train almost—” She couldn’t finish around the huge toad in her throat. Tears ran down her cheeks and she swiped at them. “Sorry. I’m not usually so emotional.” She sniffed.
The sofa sagged as he sat next to her and she held her mug out to prevent the warm liquid from spilling.
“Here.” He took the mug and placed it on the scarred coffee table. The furniture was all rather ratty and indicative of coming with the place. Kyle King was a man on the move. Did he have a real home, anywhere?
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” Warm arms came around her and she stiffened but Kyle didn’t move as his body heat seeped into her and she accepted defeat. Relaxing into the hug, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I’m not the weepy type.”
“Of course you’re not.” Hands smoothed her back, her shoulders, pulled her close. As much as the sexual tension between them was a constant companion, this wasn’t a come-on. It was pure comfort and solace. Portia closed her eyes and decided to surrender, to give into the soothing attention. For a few minutes.
“Was today a typical day for you? As far as fighting off the bad guys?”
“No. A typical day for me is boring, actually. Lots of waiting, watching. A good amount of time with my laptop, helping, ah, my colleagues put together information.”
“It’s okay that you don’t tell me everything, you know. I get it. My brother’s in a similar job.”
“Oh?”
“And you know I won’t tell you what he does. I can’t.” She heard her voice slur, felt the weight of the hardest day of her life since losing her close friend Lani close in on her.
“No.” The vibration of his voice rumbled through her and she could have pulled herself from the undertow of exhaustion. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Portia.”
“Why do I feel that relates to more?”
“Hmm?”
She leaned up and looked at him. “Are you telling me that you won’t do anything with or to me that I don’t want, too?”
The laughter crinkles at the sides of his eyes smoothed and his hold tightened on her, as if he needed her to know his deepest secrets.
“I’ve never taken what I haven’t asked for first, Portia.”
“I know that. And for the record? I trusted you before you got me out of the homeless shelter. Probably from the minute you side-tackled me off the tracks.”
He kissed her softly on her forehead, and while she longed to turn the chaste kiss into more, she didn’t want to lose this special closeness. This was what she’d been trying to put a finger on when she’d wondered if she’d always be single. Intimacy. She wanted to savor it as long as she could.
* * *
Kyle couldn’t recall the last time a woman had fallen asleep in his arms. He’d planned to put Port
ia in his bed and take the sofa, but she was out cold, and he didn’t want to risk waking her. She’d been through a lot. So much that he was shocked she hadn’t had a meltdown of some sort. Most civilians would have. Heck, a lot of agents struggled with compounding events. Anyone would. To have a near miss like what happened on the train tracks was big enough, but then to find out you were being personally targeted by a lethal organized crime group?
He gently laid her down on the sofa, noting how small she looked asleep. As if her personality, at rest, made up for half her size. The soft, worn blanket he used as an afghan on the rare nights when he streamed a show covered her perfectly. But the scratchy throw pillow wouldn’t do. He took it and left it on his bed as he brought his pillow back out and tucked it carefully under her head.
Her hair was silky and springy under his fingers and he fought to not run both hands through it. That would be downright creepy, as Portia was sound asleep. He settled for taking a last look at her, noting the way her long lashes contrasted sharply against her high cheekbones, and how full and rosy her lips were.
As he crouched next to her, he smelled not the scent of her floral perfume but something earthier.
Crap. He needed a shower, as he was still in his homeless garb, sans the wig. He stood up and walked back to the bathroom. Had he really been about to kiss Portia while decked out in the filthiest clothing and wig possible?
Humility was a good thing. He switched on the water in the small stall and considered himself lucky to be humbled by the likes of Portia DiNapoli. It reminded him that even he, after years of undercover work and ops against organized crime, wasn’t immune to being blindsided by his hormones.
Except, his connection with Portia felt deeper than any potent chemistry he’d ever shared with a woman before. Which made it deadly. Distractions were anathema to any law enforcement agent, especially when working such an explosive case. Neither he nor Portia could afford the chance that their attraction could cost him the case, or worse, her life.
He stripped out of the smelly clothes and shoved them into one of the extra plastic bags he kept under the sink for the wastebasket. He’d toss them. His cover was blown tonight when he’d fought off and scared away Markova. Even if the ROC operative didn’t recognize him, she was very good at what she did. Which meant her intuition would alert her, let her know if she encountered him at the mission again.
