“In one piece.”
“Good. David has something he wants you to look at.”
Donovan nodded. “Thanks, Rose.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, as we passed her desk and headed toward the back of the house.
“Rose. She’s the office manager slash receptionist slash mother.”
“Mother?”
“You’ll understand if you spend much time here.”
“Are she and Ash…?”
He glanced at me. “Of course not!”
I shrugged. “You can’t blame me for being curious.”
“He’s her boss.”
I wanted to point out that that rule didn’t seem to fly much around here, considering what we’d been doing when Ash texted him a couple of hours ago. But I held my tongue. On that point, anyway.
Donovan pulled me across the room to an array of computers that were balanced somewhat precariously over a low desk. Tucked behind them was quite a surprise. When Donovan told me about this computer guy who created this program that monitored my house day and night, I’d imagined a caricature of a nerd. Someone small and wearing heavy glasses. Instead, I found myself looking at a slightly smaller version of Ash.
David had the same dark hair as Ash, but his was much longer, a tangle of curls that touched his collar and threatened to fall into his eyes. And those eyes…where did they get such gorgeous green eyes? Chiseled jaw, full lips, and those broad shoulders…lady killers, both of them. The fact that David was in a chair, fingerless gloves on his hands to help him get around on his own without the threat of blisters, was no detractor. Not to me. If not for Donovan, I might have seriously considered an offer from either of the Grayson brothers.
“Ash said you had something to show us?”
David didn’t even look away from his computer screens. He tapped something into his computer and, almost instantly, a picture filled all ten or twelve of the screens.
“That’s the best I could clean it up,” David said.
I wasn’t even sure what it was we were looking at. But then I began to see the vague outline of a human body, the curve of the head and the roundness of the shoulders. I moved closer behind David so I could see it more straight on.
“Is that the person who was outside my house?”
“That’s him. Or her.”
“Why do you say her?” Donovan asked.
“The width of the shoulders, the size of the head…it’s either a small man or an average-sized woman.”
I stared at the image, trying to see something that I couldn’t. It was dark. The house was dark—why did I pick that shade of blue again?—and the clothing the person was wearing was dark. Therefore, it all just sort of blended together. There was nothing to see but outlines.
It was like trying to identify your father in a blurred photograph. Impossible.
“I don’t see anything,” I said before Donovan or David could ask.
“I didn’t think you would,” David said. “But I was hoping something about it might nudge your memory.”
I shook my head again. How could it nudge my memory when it just looked like a blob? A blob didn’t kill Joe.
Donovan took my hand and pulled me back toward him. I caught David looking, curiosity clear in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He simply turned back to the computer and punched a few more letters and numbers into his keyboard. Again the screen filled with one image, this one clearly a live feed outside of my house. Outside my bedroom window to be exact.
There were people moving around in the dead grass, doing something with the bottom edge of the windowsill.
“Santa Monica police?” Donovan asked.
“Yeah. They’ve been trying to figure out what the perp was doing all morning, but they still have no clue. Last I heard, they thought that maybe the perp was trying to set a device to the window. Something explosive.”
Donovan nodded. “Just a little C4 there would probably have taken out the whole room.”
“Do you think we’re dealing with ex-military?” David asked.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’ll check it out,” he said, changing the screens back to the multitude of code and images that had been there when we first walked up. Donovan tugged at my hand, turning to head back across the room.
“He’s gone,” he whispered near my ear.
I glanced back and, sure enough, David was clearly consumed by whatever it was he was doing.
“Come eat,” Rose called to us from the kitchen.
In addition to being the office manager, she was also quite an accomplished chef. She’d whipped up lovely tomato and cheese omelets while we were talking to David. Since I hadn’t eaten the night before, I was starving and quite grateful for the delicious concoction. Rose smiled when I complemented her, but her attention was clearly on Donovan.
“Joss’ case resolved itself last night. She’ll be back in town this afternoon.”
Donovan nodded as he tucked into his eggs. “Good for her.”
“She’ll be ready for a new case this evening. You know her, never likes to be idyll.”
“I know.” Donovan shifted in his chair. “I’m sure something will come up.”
Rose glanced at me, then focused on Donovan for a long second. “Okay,” she said softly, touching his shoulder as she headed back to her desk.
“What was that all about?” I asked. “Who’s Joss?”
Before he could answer, another tall, handsome man came bounding through the front door.
“Beautiful, sweet Rose,” he called as he caught her a few feet from her desk, twirling her around and dipping her as though they were on the floor of a ballroom dancing competition. “How are you, my gorgeous lady?”
Rose blushed, but her tone was stern when she said, “I told you to cut that out, Kirkland.”
“You’ve told me many things, my sweet Rose. But it seems you protest much too much.”
She slapped his arm, but it didn’t seem like there was much power behind it.
The man she called Kirkland spotted Donovan and me. He smiled brightly, practically prancing as he crossed the room.
“Donovan, my brother,” he said, slapping Donovan on the back. “How’s it hanging? And who is this exquisite creature?”
“Ignore him, Kate,” Donovan said. “He’ll eventually go away.”
“Like an annoying bug?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, come on,” Kirkland said, settling in the chair that separated Donovan and I. “I’m Kirkland,” he said, offering me his hand. “Donny and I have been working together forever. Doesn’t that give me some cred?”
I couldn’t help but smile. And it didn’t hurt that he had one of the most charming smiles I’d ever seen. He reminded me of Matthew McConaughey. He had that sort of southern charm that was so hard to resist. But in the looks department he was more of a younger, taller version of Michael Ealy. Absolutely gorgeous.
Where did Ash find these guys?
“I’m Kate.”
His smile widened as he took my hand between both of his. “It’s a joy to meet you, Kate. How did you happen to meet our Donny here?”
“Kirk,” Donovan said in a tone that could only be described as a warning.
“She’s a client,” David said, rolling into the kitchen almost silently in his fiberglass wheelchair.
“A client?” Kirkland looked me up and down, then leaned close and whispered in my ear, “If this one can’t keep you safe, you’re more than welcome to come seek me out, darling.”
I giggled because it just seemed almost comical. “I will.”
“Good.”
Donovan stood and came around to my chair. “I think it’s time to move on now.”
But before we could even leave the kitchen, a tall, shapely blond came falling through the front door, her hand pressed to her head like she’d had a few too many last night.
“Can I help you?” Rose asked.
Kirkland jum
ped out of his chair, the charm gone from his smile.
“I got it, Rose.”
“I thought Ash told you about bringing your ladies home, Kirkland,” Rose said, disapproval very clear in her glare.
“I know, I know,” he said, taking the girl’s arm and turning her to the door, going back the way she’d just come.
“That happens a lot?” I asked.
“At least twice a week,” David said.
I watched them go through the windows, headed down a narrow trail that snaked around the left side of the house. I almost envied the girl who finally won Kirkland’s heart. He struck me as the kind of the man who would fall hard when he finally allowed himself to fall.
Donovan tugged my hand and led the way through the living room again.
“You should go rest,” Rose said.
“I was going to take her up to one of the spare rooms.”
“Ash said he wanted you to stay with her.” Rose glanced at me, again making me feel as though I was being assessed. Or judged. “You should go to your place. You’d be more comfortable there.”
Donovan nodded. “Okay. You’ll come get us if—”
“You know I will.”
***
Donovan’s house wasn’t even big enough to really call it a house. It was a box with a couple of windows, a door, and less than a thousand feet of living space. There was a small living room where he’d crammed a couch and a recliner in front of a flat-screen television, a kitchenette that was only big enough to hold a full-sized refrigerator, a two-burner stove, and a bar sink. The bedroom and bathroom were tucked into the back. There was a queen-sized bed and a small dresser in the bedroom that you could walk past if you turned sideways. The bathroom was the only truly spacious place in the house with both a shower and a separate tub, but even in there you had to really be conscious of the way you walked around or you’d slam your shin against a bit of porcelain.
“Take the bed,” Donovan practically ordered.
“It’s your bed.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
The way he was looking at me, I knew there was no point in arguing, but some part of me really wanted to. I bit my tongue and settled on the edge of the bed, watching him shove the few discarded items of clothing that had been lying around in their proper places.
“Not as tidy as your bedroom back at your parents’ place.”
“Don’t have a compulsive maid following me around this place.”
“Don’t suppose you have a maid at all.”
He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet and headed for the door.
“I’m here if you need me.”
And then he was gone.
I couldn’t resist walking around, touching small objects that were sitting on the dresser, the side tables, wondering where they’d come from and why they mattered enough to him to keep on display in his private space. Some were pretty easy to deduce. A bullet fragment in a jar probably came from a wound he sustained, or a friend. A framed letter from a general whose name I couldn’t quite read and a shadow box filled with military medals, clearly things that were important to him. Not so obvious was a paperweight from meteor crater in Arizona. A root beer bottle stuffed with what looked like concert and movie tickets. A small, torn rag doll.
Standing there, looking at these things, I realized how little I knew about this person I’d known my entire life. So much had happened to him these last ten years. Would I ever know the full impact of those years and those experiences on his life? Would I ever understand what it was he went through in that time?
My life had been pretty uneventful. I went to college. I got a job. Nothing major or out of the ordinary. I didn’t learn how to shoot people; I didn’t go to a war-torn country and try to aid in keeping the peace. I dated a few assholes, but my experiences couldn’t come anywhere close to what he must have gone through.
Was that what caused his nightmares? Was it like that for Ash and Kirkland and the others, too?
I studied his medals, wishing I knew what they were for. I recognized the Purple Heart—and my soul ached. When was he wounded? Where was he wounded? Would anyone have contacted me if he’d died?
It was a sobering thought.
I slipped out of my borrowed jeans and crawled into bed, snuggling down against the pillows where he laid his head at night. How often did he sleep here? Was he off protecting some defenseless woman more than he was here? When he wasn’t doing that, what was he doing? Where did he go? With whom did he spend his time?
All these questions kept swirling around in my head, making it impossible to close my eyes. I wanted to ask him, but then I realized that I’d burned that bridge. When I told him to disappear, I lost any right I might have had to know him, to know what his life was like. And that made something deep inside of me hurt.
I tossed and turned for the better part of an hour. Maybe longer. And then the tiny house was filled with his voice. At first it was just a low groan. And then the groan grew into something like a growl. There were words, words I couldn’t quite make out, and then a bellow.
He was telling someone to get back. To watch out.
I didn’t hesitate to climb out of bed and pad into the living room. He was sprawled across the couch, his shirt and shoes set neatly on the recliner, the blanket he’d brought out with him tangled in a heap on the floor. He was thrashing, turning on the narrow space, his hands pushing away some unseen threat. I went to him, took his hands in mine and forced them down against his chest.
“You’re okay, Donovan,” I said as close to his ear as I could get. “You’re safe here.”
His eyes burst open, but I’m not sure he saw me at first. He jerked his hands from mine and grabbed my wrists, jerking me so that I fell hard on his chest.
“Donovan, it’s me. It’s Kate!”
His grip on my wrists was painful. It felt as though he was trying to rub my bones together. I wasn’t sure what to do, but then I realized that if I fought him, I would alarm him even more. Instead, I went limp, molding my body to his.
“It’s me,” I said again. “I’m here and you’re safe.”
Then I kissed his chest and pressed my lips to that place above his heart where my brother’s initials were permanently inked into his flesh. More kisses, moving slowly down, my tongue teasing his nipple before I moved to the center of his chest, playing in the fine hair that dotted his chest there. I felt his breathing slow and then a little hitch when I moved to his other nipple, teasing it a little before tugging it between my teeth.
“Kate,” he said as he released my wrists. But he didn’t really let me go. He buried his fingers in my hair and lifted my face to his. I think he only meant to make sure it was me, but I was beyond that. Maybe I’d been beyond that for a long time.
I kissed him, nibbling on his bottom lip before tasting him, before feeling the warmth of him envelope me. He responded to my kiss with just as much passion, just as much pent up desire as he had before. And his hands felt so right as he guided my movements, as he slid his bare hand under my borrowed sweater and explored my bare back.
Sometimes, late at night, I remembered our touches. I remembered the way he kissed me, the way his hands felt when they dared to slip under my shirt. I remembered how sweet it was, the way he hesitated before doing something we hadn’t done before. Any other boy would have done what he wanted and asked permission later. But not Donovan. And that’s how I knew that Donovan was more than just another teenage crush, a puppy love that would die with the test of time.
I should have remembered that.
He sat up and tugged me into his lap. I straddled his thighs, my hands moving over the perfect egg shape of his head, over his shoulders. I loved the feel of his bare skin, the taste of it when I nibbled at his chin, when I ran my tongue over the stubble dotting his wide jaw. And his hands, those beautiful hands, sliding over my belly and up, taking whole handfuls of my breasts, squeezing them just
enough to send shivers of pleasure through my entire body.
Was it possible to want someone this much? Was it really possible to need someone as much as I needed him right now? I couldn’t breathe; I wanted his touch that much. I almost cried out in relief when his hand slid down my belly, when his fingers slipped inside my delicate little panties.
But then he was picking me up, carrying me through the tiny house. I moaned in protest, but he ignored me and nibbled at my throat. And when we were in the bedroom, he snagged the bottom edge of the sweater and tore it from me as I fell back onto the bed. There was hunger in his eyes as he studied me. And then he was tugging at the snap on his jeans as he climbed onto the bed with me. I slid my hand inside the space he created when he undid his jeans and gripped him through those boxer briefs he was so fond of. He moaned against my mouth, as he stole another kiss before stepping away again.
He hooked his fingers under the sides of my panties and pulled them slowly from my body. I twisted a little on the bed, covering myself with my hands and my thighs as he bent to tug that flimsy material from my toes. He watched me for a second, running his hand gently over my ass. And then his pants were gone and his underwear hit the floor as he climbed back onto the bed behind me.
He peppered my shoulder with kisses, his arm slipping around my waist and tugging me back. I leaned back and stole another kiss, our tongues dancing as his fingers sought the prize I still held under my hands. I could feel him, feel every inch of him pressed against me; I could feel the barely controlled urgency that was hidden in his gentle touch. But then his hand was on my thigh, tugging my leg up over his thighs and his thickness was pressed against me, against that place that needed him so desperately.
I closed my eyes, a soundless moan trying to slip from between my lips. He moved painfully slow, coming inside of me by inches, waiting for my body to open to him, to welcome him to where he belonged. I pushed my hips against him, tugging his arm up against my chest, holding on to him like a lifesaver in the middle of the sea. Pleasure rocked through me, pleasure that was so unique and so rare that my body wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible.
And then he was there, he was inside of me, his breathing harsh against my ear. We lay still, both of us afraid of moving, of breaking this spell. But then he couldn’t help himself. He began to rock against me, his mouth buried against my shoulder to stop the noises he so desperately wanted to make. And I was pushing back against him, grinding my body against his, needing that pressure, needing that release. And it was there. I could feel it so close that it was like mirage in the desert. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. Couldn’t possibly be that perfect.
DONOVAN: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security) Page 9
