by Carol Caiton
So Kyle had been here for a while. He'd known who Michael was outside the library. He'd known Rachel was his wife. How much more did he know?
Michael snorted. It was one thing for him to do a background check on someone else, but that shoe didn't fit real well on the other foot. He didn't like the idea of somebody else checking him out. But if Kyle had recognized him during that brawl out on International Drive, did he know about RUSH, too? Was Kyle even a goddamn client?
It was dark outside by the time he logged off. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stood up and looked at the clock. Sometimes he kinda got lost in the zone and lost track of time.
He found Rachel in the living room. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa, still in her clothes and a chill passed over him when he thought about what had happened that day. What if he hadn't phoned her when he had? He would never have gotten to her in time. What if he'd lost her?
No. No, that wouldn't have happened. Strange as it seemed, yet familiar in its own way, he knew Kyle wouldn't have let that happen. Despite his smart-ass attitude and anger at Michael, Kyle would have taken care of her. He'd already started to. And a good thing too because Michael hadn't realized Lyric had been holding a knife against her ribs. Kyle knew it though. Rachel said he grabbed Lyric's wrist, eliminating the threat to her before striking him in the chest. She hadn't been hurt further because Kyle had known what to do.
He stood in the doorway for a minute and looked at her. She'd woven her hair into a long braid that fell over one shoulder and rested on the cushion beside her arm. Her sandals were on the floor, arranged neatly side by side.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, he walked over to the sofa and hunkered down beside her. "Rachel?"
Her eyes fluttered open. "Michael . . . I fell asleep."
"Yeah. Let me carry you to bed, okay?"
Her lips curved up in tired-like contentment. She lifted one hand and put it on his shoulder. "I like it when you carry me."
"Yeah?" He slid his arms under her and stood up.
"Mmm."
"I'll do it more often then."
"Okay." She burrowed her face against his neck and kissed his throat. "How's your hand?"
"Good. Your dad did a good job wrapping it." He strode over to the bed. "I'm gonna get that shower now. Why don't you go ahead back to sleep. It's been a rough day."
"Yes, it has. But I want to wash the dirt off before I go to bed."
Yep, they thought a lot alike, him and Rachel. There wasn't a smudge of anything on her, but dirt was dirt, physical or psychological.
He was standing under the pulsing stream, his bandaged hand braced against the wall, when her fingers slid softly down his back. Right away his breathing slowed and calmed and his world settled into place.
She unfastened her braid and he adjusted the flow of water until it sprayed softly around them. Then he passed her shampoo over and watched as she squirted about ten times as much into her hand as he used on his own hair.
He scanned her body while she lathered up and saw a scrape on the side of her hip. Probably happened when she fell down on the sidewalk. It wasn't bleeding, but he was pretty sure it stung under the spray of water. When she closed her eyes and started to rinse, he let his eyes travel down to her stomach. It was just a little bump. He wondered what it —his daughter—looked like right now. Did she have any hair yet? Would it be curly like Rachel's, or straight like his? For a fact it was gonna be blonde. No guesses needed there. And blue eyes. He and Rachel both had blue eyes.
Letting his gaze drift upward, he stared at her breasts, jutting outward while she ran her fingers through her hair to get the soap out. They'd been round and plump before he got her pregnant and now they were swollen and fuller and . . . goddamn, she was everything he desired in a woman. Being pregnant just seemed to enhance that somehow.
Yeah, okay, so maybe he was strutting a little. He was the one who put that baby there, the one who succeeded where no one else could. Nobody would be wondering if he was getting any from a wife who couldn't bear to let other men touch her. Hell, he was getting the best sex of his life. They just didn't need to know he was surprised he could climb out of bed every morning.
When he raised his eyes and met hers, she was smiling that sweet feminine smile that did things to his insides. Yeah, she knew what he was thinking. Even if she didn't, all she had to do was drop her eyes a little south. She did it to him every time. And he grinned a slow grin right back because he knew he did the same thing to her. All he had to do was raise his eyes a little north and look at those pretty puckered nipples.
He made love to her in the shower, up against the wall, with her legs wrapped around his waist. Her wet, slippery breasts slid against his chest with every thrust and it was all he could do to hold off until he felt her inner muscles begin to squeeze. Then her soft mindless moan did the rest. She was flying. He'd taken her to the stars. And feeling her clench around him shot him skyrocketing up there after her, pumping deep and hard in a climax that went on and on until thought his legs would give out. And still he kept going, braced against the wall for support until finally, utterly drained, he hauled air into his lungs and sagged, exhausted, against the tile. It happened every single time. Without fail. Ooooh yeaaah.
Struggling for breath, he shut his eyes and dropped his head onto her shoulder. Warm water sluiced down his back. His bandaged hand was soaked.
He smiled into her wet hair 'cause she'd probably fuss over that when she came back to earth again.
"I love you, baby," he said, the smile hidden just behind his gravelly voice.
When one of her legs slipped and slid down his thigh, he lowered her until she could stand on her own. Then he pulled in another deep breath and tested the achy weakness in his muscles. No way could he carry her into the bedroom now. It was all he could do to stand up.
When they climbed into bed half an hour later, he left the bedside lamp on. "I found out some stuff while you were asleep on the sofa," he told her.
She scooted over next to him, nestling up against his side. "What kind of stuff?"
"You know that guy—the one who told you to run?"
"Yes. Kyle Something."
"Falkner. Kyle Falkner," he said. He held her against his chest with one arm and slid his other hand behind his head. "Remember that network I told you about—when I was a kid in Philly?"
After a second she raised her face and looked up. "You know him? He's someone from your childhood?"
"It's more than that. But yeah, I know him."
How could he describe the kind of relationship he'd had with Kyle? They'd been closer than most brothers. Even after all these years, he mourned losing that.
"When did you recognize him?"
"I didn't. Not at first. But he recognized me—back when I left you at the library this morning."
Before then too. But he'd go into that when he knew more.
She stared into his eyes, serious, searching. "Do we need to worry about him?"
We. Without a second's hesitation.
Warmth spread over him again and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He'd done the right thing telling her about his past, about who he was and what he'd done. There were no secrets. She knew him and, that fast, she lined herself up with him. They were a team, him and Rachel. More than that. They were family now. Him, Rachel, and the baby.
"As of right now, I don't think there's anything to worry about. But I'm gonna look deeper into it tomorrow."
"It's unnerving to find out I was followed for so long and didn't know it," she said. "I never picked up on it until I was walking on Orange Avenue."
"I know." He smoothed his palm over her arm.
"When that— When Kyle Falkner told me to run, I didn't know if I should trust him."
"You've got good instincts. I don't know if I trust him either, even after finding out he's been a cop for the past ten years." What was it with him and cops these days?
"A cop?" That opened her eyes.
"
Yeah. In Philly. Up until a few months ago when he quit."
"And he moved to Florida," she said thoughtfully. "Do you know why?"
"I think so. He shot a thirteen-year-old kid during an armed robbery. Killed him."
"Oh, no. Was the boy involved in the robbery? Was it self-defense?"
"Yes and yes. But it went down bad," he told her. "The kid had a gun too, recognized Kyle at the last second and hesitated. And Kyle recognized the kid, but he'd already pulled the trigger by then."
"They knew each other."
"Yeah. Kyle spent a lot of his free time with some innercity kids —you know, keeping them off the streets, that kinda thing."
He was sure there was more to it than that and he'd find out. But yeah, that was just before Kyle handed in his badge. And a month later he'd moved to Florida.
"He's been down here for a few months now," he told Rachel. "He's been working road construction, like he said."
She lowered her head back onto his shoulder and began sifting her fingers through his chest hair. "Would you like to invite him over? We could have him for dinner so you could get a feel for things."
Right now he didn't want to invite anyone over. Especially Kyle. After today, his protective instincts were on high alert and he needed time for them to calm down again.
"Not yet," he told her. "I wanna do some research first. And then I'll go pay him a visit."
"You'll tell me what you find out?"
"Yeah."
She kissed his chest. "Be careful, okay?"
"Always."
Within about a minute he felt her relax and her breathing got slow and even. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep these days. She said it was normal because she was pregnant, but he'd started reading one of the books she'd bought, just to be sure.
He waited another minute, then he pulled his hand out from behind his head and slid it over her stomach. If he waited long enough, his daughter would move around. What did she do in there? Stretch? Turn somersaults?
—There. A soft, rolling ripple up by the tips of his fingers. He slid his palm that way and waited again. And . . . . After a few seconds he smiled at himself. If Simon and the rest of the guys could see him now they wouldn't believe their eyes.
Ethan wanted kids. A whole houseful he'd said. Geez. And Mason was pretty damned interested in Ali Brosig, so maybe there were some siblings in Joshua's future.
He thought about Simon for a minute. When that first blue icon had popped up, Simon must have decided he was ready to settle down. But he hadn't been in love with Nina. Not like Ethan was, or he wouldn't have been messing around on the side with Kaylene Woodrow. But Michael couldn't picture Simon ever being a father. Then again, he'd been pretty damned shocked the day Simon accepted that blue. You just never knew about people, even when you thought you did. Hadn't that hit home tonight when he discovered Kyle was a cop?
* * *
Rachel didn't think she'd been asleep for long. Half an hour maybe. But Michael wasn't in bed beside her, so she pushed the sheet aside and slid out of bed.
Turning on the light in the walk-in closet, she reached for her robe. Then she changed her mind and opened the drawer where she kept her nightgowns. Michael's Save The Manatees T-shirt sat on top and she lifted it out and slipped it over her head. Then she padded through the house.
His office was dark, as was the media room, and the kitchen light was off. Turning down another hallway, she knew she'd found him when she saw the soft glow that spilled out the doorway.
Passing by her study, she continued on to the next room down and stopped in the doorway. He was standing next to the baby's crib, one large hand fingering a lacy bird's wing on the mobile she'd picked out. He looked so tall and strong standing there, quiet and contemplative, his other hand resting on the side rail.
"We don't have a name for her yet," he said after a few seconds.
He hadn't turned around, and she knew she hadn't made a sound, but he always seemed to know when she was near.
Stepping inside the room, she went over to stand beside him and rested her hands next to his. "Do you have something in mind?" she asked.
"Yeah. Maybe."
Rachel waited.
"Whaddaya think about Emily?"
Who was Emily?
"That was my mother's name."
Recalling what he'd told her about the day his mother left the house and didn't come back, she asked, "Was it Kyle Falkner's mother who found out what happened to her for you?" —And if that was so, how deeply intertwined was his past with the other man?
"Yeah, it was. And her death was one of the first things I looked up when I got my hands on a computer. Just to see it for myself." He lowered his hand from the mobile. "They had her address wrong—some place I never heard of—but I found her, no problem. It was just like Kyle's mom said. She got hit crossing the street."
"And Kyle's mother didn't tell anyone about you? You were only a young child."
He let out a short laugh. "It didn't work like that, baby. Not where I came from. Kyle's mother told me to think about things for a couple of days and figure out what I wanted to do. So I sat in that big empty house by myself. I cried some, and I listened to the rats running around in the walls . . . . My mother was the only really fixed thing in my life. And there aren't too many options when you're just a kid. So I went back to Kyle's house and told his mother I wanted to live with her and Kyle and Joey—his brother. She said that was fine as long as I helped to provide for the family—which I'd been doing anyway. And that's how I stayed out of the system."
Rachel leaned her head against his bicep and was glad he was so much taller than she was. He was proud of the fact that he'd earned his own way as a child. She could hear it in his voice. So she didn't want him to see the tears in her eyes. Her world as a child the same age had been a fairytale. His was a story of loss and brutality and survival.
"So whaddaya think? Is Emily good with you?"
She swallowed to clear her throat. "Yes. I like Emily."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Surprising her, he reached down and scooped her up in his arms. "Okay, Emily it is." He gave her a quick kiss. "So whaddaya say we get you and Emily back to bed then?"
"Are you coming with us?"
"Yeah, me too."
"Okay."
Pausing at the doorway so she could turn off the light, Michael looked down at what she was wearing and smiled.
"Like those manatees, don'tcha?"
"Yes, I do," she told him. "They're one of my favorite causes now."
"Yeah?"
She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. "Yeah."
Preview of Full Circle
Full Circle
RUSH, Inc.
Book 3
By Carol Caiton
CHAPTER 1
When a knock sounded on his door at eleven o'clock Saturday morning, Kyle Falkner wasn't surprised. He should have been though. He'd lived in Florida for six months and not once in all that time had he had a visitor. Not even his landlord knocked. She knew what time he came home from work. If she needed to tell him something, she met him out front. When she'd decided to have the roof replaced, she'd waited out on the porch and told him to expect some noise for a few days. Likewise, when she decided to switch cable companies, she'd stepped outside as he slammed his car door shut and told him about it. And for his part, when the rent was due, he either rang her doorbell or met up with her out in the yard and delivered it personally. He was never late, so there was no need for her to come knocking on his door. And that being the case, he'd lived in perfect peace for the past six months. Until now.
He knew who was standing out there. He didn't have to look. If not today, then another day soon Michael would have come looking for him. They had unfinished business between them—seventeen-year-old unfinished business. And it would probably stay unfinished until Kyle beat the shit out of Michael fifteen or twenty times. Maybe more than that.
&nbs
p; What pissed him off right now though, was the perverse pleasure he felt—pleasure at seeing the asshole, pleasure at having finally spoken to him, and the goddamn pleasure that flooded through him knowing Michael was alive and knocking on his door. In spite of everything. In spite of Joey. In spite of his mother. In spite of the years—fucking years—of searching and wondering and needing to know something— anything—even if it had been the closure of learning Michael was dead.
But there hadn't been a clue. No clue, no word, nothing. And the rasping pleasure he felt after seventeen years . . . why was it there? Why did he care? Obviously Michael didn't. Michael hadn't cared for a long time. But as much as Kyle wanted to beat the crap out of him, he wouldn't lay a finger on him. It wasn't worth having his name in the NCIC database, and it wasn't worth the jail time. Nothing would compensate for all those years of fury and pain and loss.
But he wanted to. God knew he sure wanted to.
He didn't have far to walk to answer the door. His living space was a double-car garage that his landlord had converted into a studio-sized apartment. It wasn't much, only two rooms and a bath. But the rent he paid was reasonable. It probably covered half the old woman's mortgage, but he wasn't going to complain. She'd sunk some money into the project. He had a bedroom with a walk-in closet, and the small open kitchen at the other end of the living area held full-sized appliances . . . even a stackable washer and dryer behind louvered doors. Under his feet the padding beneath the beige carpet was thick and comfortable, and it was quiet here. He lived in a subdivision of residential homes instead of an apartment complex and that was what he wanted right now even if right now had turned into six months.
In Philadelphia the people who had lived above him liked to party, and that never used to bother him. But his mind was no longer in a place where he could tolerate good times. The sound of laughter now fired up a lot of anger and tension. He was grieving, and he didn't want to be around people who were out there enjoying life.
