Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01]

by The First Sin

  Michaels fell back and slid across the bloody, foamy floor.

  “Kristin!”

  Nick, was that Nick?

  She slowly slid down the cabinets, her legs starting to give out as well as her sight.

  But she had just enough left to see her brother’s face. The steel-hard look in his gaze as he pointed a gun at Michaels’s groin.

  In her haze Kristin almost tipped sideways as she watched, fascinated. She heard a shot, and Michaels screamed even louder and seemed to froth at the mouth.

  Then Nick coolly raised the gun and shot the hysterical man between his already sightless eyes.

  “I knew you’d find me.” Kristin smiled at Nick before everything went dark.

  CHAPTER 38

  A long road ahead

  April 27

  Saturday afternoon

  Donovan gripped my hand as tight as I was holding onto his when Dr. Shastri came into the room. The doors made shushing sounds as they opened, then closed behind her. Donovan and I had been in the waiting room at the medical center ever since last night, when we found Kristin.

  I glanced up at Donovan. I’d seen him intense, focused, angry, and in a killing rage.

  I’d never seen him scared.

  My cast was hard against my belly, which seemed to twist as I pressed the cast to it.

  We got to our feet as the doctor walked closer. Donovan held onto me as if I was his lifeline.

  Dr. Shastri was lovely, with dark skin and dark eyes, her hair pulled back tight. She sat on one of the mauve and sea-foam green chairs, the cushion barely giving under her slight weight. The medical center didn’t have a hospital’s antiseptic smell. At least not in the waiting room—it smelled like paint, dust, and mothballs.

  As the doctor waited for us to sit back down, Donovan seemed frozen. I tugged a little on his hand and we sat together.

  Donovan’s words came out gruff. Hoarse. “How is—” His throat worked. “Is my sister all right?”

  “She will be.” The doctor gave a gentle smile. I placed her accent as close to Kashmir, in northern India, where I had once worked an op. “But it will take time. You need to understand that.”

  “How—what—” Donovan sucked in his breath and he looked like the Donovan I knew, not the frightened boy I’d seen while we waited for news. “Please explain everything,” he said with a more solid tone to his voice.

  “The near strangulation is the worst of Kristin’s physical injuries.” Dr. Shastri folded her hands in her lap. “The fumes she breathed in from the oven cleaner fortunately did not damage her lungs. However, she does have a few bruises and some mild abrasions from what was probably a whip.”

  The killing rage was back on Donovan’s face, his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. At the same time, fear for his sister never left his eyes.

  “She’s been tested for illnesses and diseases, and everything has come back normal so far,” Dr. Shastri said.

  Those words brought home the fact that Kristin had been sexually abused, and my stomach lurched. It was possible I would end up with two casts if Donovan squeezed my hand any tighter than he was now.

  “What now?” Donovan sounded like he had to force the words.

  “From what I understand of your background, Mr. Donovan,” Dr. Shastri said in her light accent, “I am certain you are aware of what will be the more difficult part of Kristin’s healing. The psychological trauma.”

  Donovan didn’t move, didn’t respond.

  “The extent of this trauma we will not know until she has had a complete mental health assessment,” Dr. Shastri said. “At the very least she will be seen by a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and a social worker. She will be prescribed what she most needs based on that assessment.

  “Her recovery will involve therapy,” she continued. “Not only with a social worker, but the psychiatrist may prescribe medications. As I said, it will depend on her assessment.”

  Donovan pulled my hand into his lap, and I don’t think he even realized it. “When can she come home?”

  Dr. Shastri’s brown eyes moved from Donovan’s to mine, before she looked at Donovan again. “She will most likely need some in-patient time. How long that will be, it is too soon to tell.”

  “I don’t want her to wake up alone.” Donovan looked toward the doors the doctor had come through. “I need to be there for her.”

  “You may stay with Kristin when you are able to.” The doctor had a focused expression, while maintaining an air of soothing calm with her gentle accent. “So that you know, she will never be alone. She will always have a sitter in the room, and we have been assured a guard will always be stationed outside the door. She will be extremely well cared for.”

  Dr. Shastri stood. “She’s resting and may not wake, but you are welcome to spend time with her.”

  Donovan held onto me as we followed the doctor. I honestly don’t think he even realized he hadn’t released his grip on me since the doctor came into the waiting room.

  For a long time we stood by Kristin’s bed. Her bruised, swollen throat, her tortured expression, even in sleep, all those tubes and monitors . . .

  “She needs you,” I whispered to Donovan, and he released my hand.

  Donovan was wholly focused on Kristin when he took her hand in his, and he held it for hours. His voice was husky as he told her how much he loved her.

  Then he started talking about how he was waiting for her to come home; about how that old lady had willed him a snotty calico named Dixie; how it was around Boston; memories of things they’d done as kids. Just stuff you would think inane coming from a man like Donovan.

  But there was love in every word he spoke, and in the single tear that made its way down his cheek.

  CHAPTER 39

  It’s time

  May 10

  Friday night

  “That feels sooooo good.” I fell into Donovan’s massage like my friend Tara would fall into a vat of dark chocolate if you gave her the chance.

  It was two weeks after the end of Kristin’s captivity. Killing Professor Michaels hadn’t been enough to satisfy his need for revenge, and he was looking for Cabot harder than ever.

  And I was searching just as hard for that sonofabitch whose initials were still carved into my flesh beneath the bandage I wouldn’t take off.

  The night Donovan rescued her, the Big Men had put a bullet in every professor there. They hadn’t killed the men, even though it would have been pretty damned satisfying if he had.

  RED covered everything, of course. The agency even found ways to get Harvard to terminate the professors’ employment. They’d never work at another major university again.

  The carpet in Kristin’s living room was soft beneath me as I sat with my back against the couch, between Donovan’s knees, while he sat on the couch and massaged my neck and shoulders. The news was just white noise as my head lulled back. I was in ecstasy. His massages were almost as good as the sex.

  Well, not quite.

  He stopped massaging and his fingers pressed into my shoulders.

  “Ow. That hurts.” I tipped my head further to look up at him and saw his gaze fixed straight ahead on the TV, his jaw set.

  What had been white noise came into focus as the reporter’s words sank into my consciousness.

  “. . . vanished from this local nightclub.” The reporter had just the right amount of concern in her voice. “Eyewitnesses believe the young woman was taken by the same man seen abducting other women. What you will see next is an artist’s rendering of the suspect.”

  A white page now filled the screen with a drawing that closely resembled a familiar face. “Danny,” I said, and Donovan’s hands tightened on me more. It hurt enough that I shrugged out of his hold. “He’s one of the men who helped kidnap me, and helped Cabot to escape.”

  Donovan growled, “He’s a dead man.”

  The reporter continued. “The suspects appear to abduct women from different nightclubs throughout the area, and Bo
ston has hundreds of nightclubs.” Then the reporter gave a particularly solemn look. “The Boston Police Department is asking your help in finding the individuals responsible for abducting these young women. If you have any information that might provide any leads, please call . . .”

  The TV clicked off, and I saw Donovan set the remote on the end table.

  “So much for RED’s control over the media and the BPD on this one,” I said with a groan. “Senator Shelton’s going to be ticked, big-time.”

  Donovan grunted and started massaging my shoulders again. Rubbing his thumbs at just the right pressure points.

  Screw the news.

  I sighed in bliss. “Want to talk about when you went back into Navy Special Ops?”

  Donovan didn’t say anything, but didn’t stop the orgasmic massage, for which I was very much pleased.

  “It’s a long story, Steele.” His massage became a little rougher as he added, “And it’s not a good one.”

  “Ease up a bit, Donovan.” I tilted my head back so I could see his face, and he stopped the massage and rested his hands on my shoulders. I met his blue eyes. “You can tell me. After all, I totally spilled my guts to you.”

  “Not totally.” He kissed me on the forehead, and his wonderful male scent had an instant effect on me, sending a tingling sensation throughout my body. “One of these days I’ll tell you,” he said, and I heard the truth in his voice. “Just not now.”

  Donovan drew me up into his lap, turning me enough so that we were looking at each other. He gave a quirky smile.

  “I’m going to miss having you every night when I go home tomorrow,” I said softly.

  His smile faded and he brushed my hair from my face. “Stay awhile longer.”

  I touched his stubbled jaw. “It’s time, Donovan.”

  He said nothing, then kissed me before he took me to the floor and slid off my jeans. He kept his clothes on, just pausing long enough to unfasten his jeans and sheathe his erection.

  Oh, God. Donovan’s cock was inside me, filling me, stretching me before I could catch my breath. It never failed to amaze me how good he felt as he thrust.

  Every time with him was wild and passionate, like he couldn’t take me hard enough or fast enough.

  It curled my toes when I met him with my upward thrusts and felt him hit my G-spot.

  He pushed my shirt up and sucked my nipples. “Yeah, like that.” I clenched my fingers in his hair. “More. Please suck them more.”

  Donovan stopped with his groin pressed tight against mine. “What do you want, Agent Steele?”

  I whimpered. “I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll scream loud enough to shake the walls.” Donovan loved it when I begged and talked dirty to him. And he made me beg. “Please, Donovan.”

  The way he drove in and out of me, pistoning his hips, I don’t think he could have stopped if he tried. His clothing felt so good against my naked flesh as he rubbed me in all the right places.

  My orgasm was so fabulous that I did cry out, and the walls did seem to rock. Donovan groaned his release, his cock pulsing inside me.

  I remained lying on the floor, looking up at him as he tossed the spent condom into a wastebasket. I was amazed at how big his cock still was.

  Even more amazing was that he stripped out of his clothing, sheathed his cock again, and was inside me in seconds.

  He fucked me like he had to release every demon inside him to be whole again.

  And I welcomed him.

  May 11

  Saturday morning

  The itching going on under my cast was going to drive me out of my friggin’ mind as I packed. Cast would be off in a week. Could. Not. Wait. What a long four weeks since Cabot had broken my arm.

  My fillings were going to fall out if I didn’t stop grinding my teeth every time I thought of that SOB. How much time since he’d gotten away? Too long. The leads we had managed to turn up went absolutely nowhere. And it was pissing me off, big-time.

  But we did know an auction was going down soon.

  Tick tock.

  My Red Sox nightshirt went into my case first, followed by the shorts, jeans, bikini panties, and everything else.

  Home sounded so good. My own bed, my own kitchen, my own mess.

  Pecan Sandies and Mountain Dew, here I come.

  It had been two weeks since the end of Kristin’s captivity. She would be returning home from the medical center tomorrow and I didn’t want to be in the way.

  At least it looked like she was going to come through better than a lot of women would. Mentally scarred, but she was tough, a lot like her brother. She was a realist, and a graduate student in psychology. She knew she couldn’t escape unscathed, and the trauma would take her a long time to get past. And she might never fully heal mentally.

  There was no denying the fact, though, that everything had changed for her. To know what to expect wasn’t the same as actually living it.

  I don’t think Donovan could have been happier that she would be back, or more scared to have her coming home—like she might break in his care.

  Like I said, since Kristin was returning, I didn’t want to be in the way when she got home.

  And I missed my own place.

  Dixie peered into the room, gave a loud meow, and turned away with her head in the air. I wasn’t sure if she approved or disapproved of my leaving.

  Just as I gathered all my stuff together—and had proudly done it one-handed—the front door opened and closed with a loud thump. Then heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway and to the door.

  Donovan came to me and wrapped his arms around me. “Stay a little while longer,” he said for the tenth time.

  “You don’t have to say it’s because you’ll miss our fabulous sex,” I said.

  “Lexi—”

  I leaned into him and wrapped my good arm around him. “I just need to be home, okay?”

  “Lexi—”

  “Take me home.”

  He heaved a deep sigh that I felt all the way through my body. “I’ll carry your stuff.”

  May 19

  Sunday afternoon

  The peeling skin on my formerly broken forearm flaked off as I scratched. Okay, gross, but it friggin’ itched. It was so good to have that cast off that I’d take the itching any day.

  Besides, it was my place and I had a vacuum cleaner. Somewhere.

  A week after I’d left Donovan’s, I’d settled into my old routine. It felt good. Still, I missed seeing the big jerk every day—and the awesome frequent sex.

  I almost dropped the bowl of freshly nuked popcorn and two bottles of Guinness when someone banged on my front door. The Red Sox pregame blared from my little TV on the back balcony.

  Damnit. I was all set to kick back and enjoy some time with a bunch of my neighbors who’d be on their balconies, too.

  Ugh. This had better be good.

  I set the popcorn and Guinness on the coffee table and kicked aside a pair of socks I’d stripped out of the night before.

  When I got an eyeful through my peephole of who was on the other side, I grinned. Yeah, it was good all right. Real good.

  The chain rattled as I slid it across, and the bolt clicked when I unlocked it. The knob turned before I even had a chance to do it myself and Donovan pushed the door open.

  Somehow he managed to slam the door shut and grab me for a hard kiss at the same time. I climbed him, wrapping my thighs around his hips, and held onto his broad shoulders with my palms. He grasped my butt cheeks with his large hands and held me tight to him.

  “Mmmm.” I tipped my head back as he moved his lips along my jawline. “I like,” I said as his erection pressed between my thighs.

  “Floor or bedroom?” Donovan said in a throaty growl as he worked his lips down my throat to the gap in my Red Sox jersey.

  “Balcony.”

  That got his attention.

  He raised his head and met my gaze.

  “Hey, I don’t want to miss the game.” I brought
my lips to his ear. “We’re going to kick some Yankee butt.”

  Donovan quirked his mouth in that adorable way. Although I’m not so sure he’d like the word “adorable” associated with him.

  A very naughty glint was in his eyes. “The Red Sox won’t even score.”

  “Blasphemy!” I slugged his biceps and slid down his body until I was standing again. “You know how to live dangerously, Agent Donovan.”

  He brought me tight again for a hard kiss, but I placed my palms on his chest and shoved him back. Not an easy feat when my lips wanted to stay glued to him.

  I headed toward the coffee table. “Twenty-five on the Sox.”

  “You’re on,” he said, and slapped my backside when I bent over to pick up the bowl of popcorn and Guinness.

  A bottle chilled my palm and I shoved it into his hands when I turned around. “Make yourself useful.”

  “I can think of lots of ways to make myself useful.” He had a wicked expression that almost made me want to forget the baseball game and play a little catch with Donovan.

  “Forget it.” That was not so easy to say. I walked past him and headed toward the balcony. “There are more important things, you know.”

  “Why tease ourselves, Steele?” He grabbed one of my ass cheeks with his hand as we crossed the threshold onto my balcony. “The Yanks are going to win anyway.”

  “This popcorn and that Guinness are going to look so good all over your clothes.” I raised the bowl as I faced him and glared.

  He lifted his free hand in a gesture of surrender. “We’ll just wait until you’re forking over that twenty-five.”

  I narrowed my eyes and increased my glare, but he pulled up a chair in front of the small TV on my balcony and kicked back, with his ankles crossed and his fingers laced behind his head.

  The seat next to him was the most comfortable so I had to sit in it, of course.

  Mmmm, smelled so good out here. A clean breeze, grilled hot dogs, sun-dried laundry.

  My neighbors were already shouting at their screens.

  “Heya, Lex,” Jerry yelled across the alleyway, through the laundry hanging on the clotheslines between us.