Thick as Thieves

by Sandra Brown

  Dwayne lay there in the dirt, unmoving, until he could no longer hear Burnet’s truck, then he got up and ran into his house. Dyle could give you pause, but he was a lot of swagger and not much substance, and everybody knew it. He got other people to do his dirty work.

  Burnet, though. That guy you did not want to cross swords with. If Dwayne ever had thought otherwise, Burnet had shown him the light. He was a convert. To stay alive, he had to get gone. Like right now.

  He scrounged around in the junk inside the house until he found the duffel bag he’d carried out of Huntsville packed with his meager belongings.

  As he tramped through the rooms, he gathered up pieces of clothing that were strewn everywhere, and, regardless of which body part the article covered or its state of cleanliness, he crammed it into the duffel. He shoved his bare feet into a pair of boots, castoffs that the twins had given him when he made parole.

  The waistband of his jeans was too loose to hold his pistol, so he poked it into one of the front pockets. He pried up a plank in the closet floor that gave him access to the crawl space where he kept mason jars full of cash. They were the last items to go into the duffel before he zipped it.

  He was almost to the front door when his cell phone began playing the riff to “Bat Out of Hell.”

  He dropped the duffel at his feet and pulled the phone from his other jeans pocket. There was no caller ID, but he had a fair idea of who it was, and it weakened his knees. “Jesus.”

  If he didn’t answer, Dyle would know something was up. So he swiped his sweating forehead with his forearm, then clicked on. Acting like he was put out over being disturbed, he said, “Who’s this?”

  “How’d it go, Dwayne?”

  He forced his voice to sound laid-back. “Oh, hey. It went good.”

  “You found them all right?”

  “Right where you said.”

  “Were they hurt?”

  “Don’t know. The dogs attacked, but during the fray, the girl managed to get back into his pickup. She leaned on the horn. Sounded like a damn freight train was coming. So I called the dogs off and got away from there before anybody could see me.

  “Cain’t say if either of them was hurt or not, but they got the bejesus scared out of them. Scaring them shitless would be good enough. That’s what you said.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Dwayne, but I remember what I said. You got away clean?”

  “Yes, sir. No problemo.”

  “You haven’t talked to anybody about this?”

  “No, no. Not a word.”

  “Because this can’t come back on me.”

  “I didn’t tell nobody. Not even my brothers.”

  “Okay then, we’re square, Dwayne. Nice work. Have a good night.”

  The DA hung up before Dwayne could wish him the same. He took a deep breath of relief and swiped his forehead again. His worry had been for nothing.

  Phone in hand, he was tempted to call the twins and alert them to his abrupt departure, but he figured he ought to land somewhere first, where neither Dyle nor Burnet could find him, then notify his family of his sudden relocation and the reason for it. They would understand.

  He picked up the duffel, killed the floodlights as he went through the front door, but didn’t even bother to shut it. He would never be back. Whatever was left inside or out of the house, the next inhabitant was welcome to.

  It had started to rain. He trotted across the yard but didn’t forget to retrieve his shotgun. Burnet hadn’t taken all his ammo. There was a box of shells in his pickup.

  When he reached it, he looked wistfully toward the dog pens, where the animals were still acting agitated and bloodthirsty. Big money earners, those dogs. Trained to be killers. He hated like hell having to leave all that talent behind.

  “Fuckin’ Burnet,” he muttered.

  He opened the driver’s door and tossed the duffel into the passenger seat, then climbed in. He was reaching for the ignition when a silky voice spoke from the back seat.

  “If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a cowardly liar.”

  They had to run through the rain to reach the porch. Ledge unlocked the front door and ushered Arden in, reaching around her to turn off the alarm.

  “I’ve been promoted,” she said. “Last time, I came through the back door.”

  “Last time, you weren’t invited. You came in on your own.”

  “You didn’t want me to follow you inside?”

  “No, I didn’t. But not because I didn’t want you to be here.”

  She looked at him with frustration. “Another riddle. What does that even mean, Ledge?”

  “Hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “A drink first.” He turned toward the kitchen, but she stopped him by grabbing his sleeve.

  “Let’s wait on the drink and have this out right now. Is Crystal the hang-up, or not?”

  “Not.”

  “You love her.”

  “Yes. But sex isn’t part of it. Never has been.”

  “So is this some kind of unrequited love thing with you, like Lancelot and Guenevere? Crystal is off limits, so you make do?”

  “As I recall, a kingdom fell because Lancelot and Guenevere screwed each other blind.”

  “You know what I mean. Are you pining after the unattainable love of your life?”

  “Yes, I know what you mean. And, no, I’m not pining after Crystal.”

  She regarded him, her brow furrowed. “There’s a story, isn’t there? Something in her past?”

  “It’s Crystal’s story to tell, not mine.” No one would ever hear about Morg’s abuse from him. Even with his uncle, he had hinted at it just enough to enlighten him so something could be done to stop it. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “You’re very good at keeping secrets.”

  He damn sure was. He was especially good at keeping his own.

  “You’ve been rained on.” He motioned behind her. “The bathroom is down that hall, second door on your left. Grab a towel; grab two, one for me. I’ll pour you a whiskey.”

  He turned and beat it into the kitchen before she could detain him again. He got the bottle of bourbon from the pantry, took two glasses from the cabinet, thought about cheating and taking a hit straight from the bottle for an added measure of courage, but resisted.

  He poured an inch into each glass and added a couple of ice cubes. Leaving the bottle, he returned to the living room with a glass in each hand. Arden hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet. He went over to the opening into the hall. “Did you get lost?”

  The bathroom door was standing open, and the light was on. “Arden?”

  Getting no answer, he walked down the hall. When he got even with his open bedroom door on his right, she said, “In here.”

  She was standing at the window, looking out at the rain. “You have a view of the lake from this room.”

  Seeing her there in his shadowy room, his heart began to thud with a mix of dread and anticipation. But he ignored the dread. Officially they hadn’t had a drink yet. He’d made a vow to himself to tell her “after a drink.”

  He walked into the room and joined her at the window. “This view sold me on the house. When the mist rises over the water, it looks otherworldly.”

  “Hmm. A lot different from the landscapes of Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “Like different planets.”

  “When you were over there, did you miss this?”

  “Something terrible.” He passed her one of the glasses, but neither of them drank.

  “Did you buy this house as is?”

  “No, it was a wreck. I fixed it up.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Took me a couple of years.”

  “That involved a lot of labor.”

  “Yeah, but it gave me a lot of time to think, work through some postwar shit. It was my psychotherapy.”

  She leaned back against the wall. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”
r />   “About the war?”

  She gave a slight nod.

  “Arden—”

  “Just one thing. Tragic or hilarious. Share a moment that stands out for whatever reason.”

  He turned his head and stared thoughtfully out the window. “We, uh, went into an Afghani village that had been decimated. We were going from building to building, looking for survivors and injured, whether they were on our side or Taliban sympathizers.

  “I went into this—you couldn’t even call it a house. A dwelling. It was a mess. Carnage. Everybody was dead except for a young woman. Real young. Sixteen, seventeen. She was nursing a baby, an infant.

  “I started toward her to help. But her face was uncovered. It flashed through my mind that I couldn’t, shouldn’t, let any of the surviving villagers know I’d seen her like that. It might have gone bad for her.

  “She and I just looked at each other, frozen like, then I backed out without saying a word. It lasted maybe ten seconds at most, but of all the things I witnessed over there, it’s seeing her with her baby that sticks with me. Not because it was the worst thing I saw, God knows, but because it was the most human.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?”

  He turned back to Arden. “Before we pulled out, I saw her and the baby as they were being cared for by Afghani medics. Both were all right.”

  “Did she acknowledge you?”

  “No. Hell no. She wouldn’t have in any case, but, geared up, we all look alike. She wouldn’t have known me from the others.”

  She gazed up at him for a moment, then whispered, “She knew you.”

  She set her glass on the windowsill and reached for his free hand. She turned it palm up and ran her fingertips over the calluses at the base of each finger.

  “That morning when you came uninvited to my house, you ran your hand—this hand—along the bannister and across the mantel. Appreciatively. Like a caress. You probably weren’t even aware of doing it. But it was so sensual, it took my breath. And ever since, I’ve fantasized you stroking me, just that way.”

  Lust as incendiary as lava coursed through him, overtaking everything. In its path, conscience, morality, and honor were consumed, and supplanted by unstoppable desire.

  Glass of whiskey still in hand, he curved his arm around her neck, hooking it in the bend of his elbow, and growled, “Your fantasy is a helluva lot tamer than mine.”

  Chapter 34

  He claimed her mouth.

  Arden was vaguely aware of him letting go of her long enough to set his glass on the windowsill alongside hers, but he didn’t break the kiss until he had to in order to pull her top up over her head. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, slid the straps down her arms, then angled back and looked at her breasts with frank interest.

  He flicked a glance up to her eyes. His reflected the raindrops that dotted the windowpane, but the light in them burned with a blue flame. The glimpse lasted for only a fraction of a second, but she read in it that he liked what he saw.

  He slid his arms beneath hers, splayed his hands over her back, and drew her to him. He lowered his head. This time there was no cloth filtering the wet heat of his mouth. It tugged at her ardently but sweetly. She held his face between her hands and rubbed her palms against his scruff, loving its scratchiness in contrast to the sleek, fluid caresses of his tongue.

  As she’d fantasized, he stroked her back from her shoulder blades, down past the dip of her waist to her bottom, then back up. She gave a little hiccup of delight at the feel of his calluses against her skin. His large hands made her feel slight, feminine, wanted. Desperately wanted.

  He worked his hands into the waistband of her leggings. She squirmed in an effort to help him remove them, but he bracketed her hips and held her still. He nuzzled beneath her ear. “Are you okay to do this? It’s been enough time?”

  Emerging from a fog of desire long enough to translate his raspy whisper, she rubbed her lips against his, smiling. “Yes.”

  He mumbled something that might have been a prayer, then dived into another deep kiss that reignited the passion that had been put on pause. Together they got her out of her leggings and him out of his shirt. She unbuckled his belt; he undid the buttons of his fly. Then he lifted her and carried her over to the bed.

  He set her on top of the covers. She lay back and scooted up toward the headboard. He pulled his belt from the loops and dropped it to the floor. He tugged off his boots. As the second one landed with a soft thud onto the floor, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her underwear.

  “No. Me.”

  He got onto the bed, standing on his knees between her legs. Every time she’d seen him, his physique had caused lazy currents of sexual awareness down low and deep inside her, but seeing Ledge shirtless caused a tidal wave.

  He had a warrior’s body. On the underside of his left biceps was a tattoo. His abs were a firm, solid six-pack. Just the right amount of hair fanned over his pecs. His yummy trail begged to be followed, because inside the jeans, now open and riding low, there was nothing except Ledge.

  Planting his hands on either side of her, he lowered himself as though doing a pushup, dipped his head to her breasts, and again applied his mouth. He left her nipples beaded and flushed, the slopes of her breasts rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

  He began working his way down the center of her body. He paved a damp trail of kisses in the hollow between her rib cage and around her navel, down to where his lips encountered stretchy lace.

  But not for long. He finessed away that filmy barrier and sent it sailing over the side of the bed to the floor. His breath soughed over her as he whispered, “Blond everywhere,” and planted the sweetest kiss there.

  His thumbs scaled down the twin channels at the tops of her thighs to where they met. He uncovered that softest, most sensitive spot and stroked it with the tip of his tongue. Exhaling his name, she dug her fingers into his hair.

  Then for the next while, he alternately tormented and gifted her. He was maddening in the way he teased, intuitive and deft in the way he responded to her slightest movement, pleading whimper, pleasured sigh.

  Without resistance or hesitation, she followed the guidance of his hands to make readjustments in their position. He turned her over to kiss the small of her back, the dimples on either side, then lower where he took a love bite that he soothed with kisses.

  As he turned her onto her back again, he paused to press wet kisses on the insides of her thighs. Then, sliding his hands under her, he scooped her up to his mouth and played over her with his lips and tongue until she came, ecstatically and without inhibition, while he stayed, lightly rubbing his lips against her, speaking in a low rumble words she didn’t catch, but didn’t need to in order to gather their meaning.

  As she recovered, he retraced the kissing trail, this time making his way up her body, until he was levered above her, gazing down at her face when she opened her eyes. She mimed a thank you.

  While she had been floating down, he had removed his jeans. He nudged her abdomen with his penis and growled, “We’re not done yet.”

  “Oh, good.”

  He tried to smile, but it was strained, and his eyes were dark with intensity. “Take me. Guide me in.”

  She reached between their bodies and wrapped her hand around him. Her eyes widened in appreciation of his ampleness, which made him groan around another half smile. It turned into a grimace of pleasure as she stroked her way up, back down, up again.

  Then she caressed the tip. It was full and taut, and already slick. The slow revolutions her thumb made to spread the moisture caused him to hiss and squeeze his eyes shut. “Damn, Arden. Now.”

  She did as asked and guided him. He pushed into her, but drew in a sharp breath over her tightness. “Jesus. Are you sure you—”

  “Yes.” She clutched his butt and tilted her hips up.

  A profanity escaped on an expulsion of breath as he began to press and retreat in increments that stole he
r breath and accelerated his. When he was fully in, he paused as though to savor being imbedded in her, then the mating impulse overcame him.

  He angled himself up so that every stroke was perfectly placed and brought her closer to another climax. When it washed over her, she hugged him tightly to her, chanting his name.

  He buried his face in her neck, grinding against her and maintaining that sublime friction until it became too much for him, too.

  Arden was left breathless, boneless. In the aftermath, she surrendered to a delicious lethargy and settled deeper into the bed, loving the feel of him, his weight, his body heat, securing her there.

  Eventually, he got up and went into the master bathroom. He washed himself and then brought a wet washcloth back to the bed. He bathed her stomach with it. “I should have gotten a condom.”

  “I wouldn’t have welcomed the timeout.”

  “Me neither. That’s why I didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t sure if that final growl was from ecstasy or frustration.”

  “Definitely ecstasy. Also a bit of frustration.”

  “I’m back on the pill.”

  “I didn’t know that, and you’re not supposed to risk another pregnancy for a couple more months. I read up on it.”

  She looked at him with surprise. “You read up on it?”

  “Just in case I got lucky.”

  “You didn’t get lucky. I practically begged you.”

  “Whatever. You did it good.”

  After cleaning her, he folded the cloth and set it on the nightstand, then placed his hand on the other side of her, bracing himself so that his arm bridged her torso.

  He’d left the bathroom door ajar. There was enough light for him to see her in detail, but it wasn’t so bright that it detracted. Rather, it was just enough to illuminate her skin and make it glow. He was even more entranced by the parts of her that were shadowed.

  He used his free hand to explore. Her hair was a tangle on the pillow. The curls tried to ensnare his fingers. He pulled them free to trace the shape of her ear, to tug gently on the velvety lobe, outline her lips, and skate along the delicate ridge of her collarbone. He cupped her breast in his palm and lightly pinched her nipple. Its immediate response roused his resting cock.