Intimate Danger (Empire Blue)

by D. C. Stone

  “And you’ll get it.”

  Her gaze fastened on another squirrel making its way across a branch, and she tensed when it leapt and missed the limb of the next tree. The squirrel spread its legs, fell through the open air. Everything moved in slow motion as if the air had grown thick. Her gasp sounded loud to her ears, the chief’s startled question almost booming.

  In her peripheral, he turned his head, followed the path of the animal as well.

  The squirrel hit the ground, didn’t move. Her heart kicked in her chest, started to pound in her ears. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Seconds ticked by and a steady, comforting hand ran across her back.

  “Time, Charlie.”

  Moments later the squirrel jumped up, its little chest breathing in rapid motions before it ran off. She let out a startled laugh and fell against Ben’s chest, shaking her head, thinking if that squirrel could survive a fall from twenty feet up, she could get through this small hurdle.

  ****

  Trent sat back in the chair and rubbed his tired eyes, exhaustion plaguing his system. He felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks, which was probably true. It wasn’t just a tired body, but his mind screamed for sleep, a break, rest from the mounds and mounds of evidence he was trying to sort through.

  A search of Agent Dillon Echols’ cabin revealed eight Tupperware tubs full of women’s lingerie. Each of the bras and underwear were filed, studiously set to preserve for years, and even color coordinated. Sectioned off in parts, the catalogue of lingerie had even been broken down by month and year. The man had been able to store close to three hundred pieces per storage container. The amount of victims involved was astronomical.

  Between the searches through Nyack and Washington Metro PD files, they linked Echols to at least ninety separate break-ins and assaults, all the way back to 2005. Trent’s head hurt from the information he sorted through, and from his worry over Charlie.

  She still hadn’t reached out to him, and it made him sick to his stomach to think that she could believe he’d be involved in something as revolting as this. It hurt more so that he’d given her the opportunity to not trust him by never opening up to her when she asked. He was an asshole.

  He stared up at the stained white ceiling, and refused to let his eyes close, even for a minute. He was unable to keep his mind from pulling up the images of pictures and video he sorted through. While he’d go through counseling once this case was over, there was no amount of help he could get to bleach any of this out of his brain.

  He needed time. Time to let the images fade.

  Echols took thousands of pictures, most of them of him in lingerie, often masturbating, and many times using crude instruments on his victims to sexually assault.

  The videos were worse.

  Dillon Echols taped every second of the attacks, from the point of the women returning home until he finished with whatever scene he chose to play out. Whether that be taking pictures, raping them, or watching the life drain from their eyes, it was all the same in the end. There was no turning back time. His violence spread through several communities, and lives had forever changed.

  In many of the videos, Echols caused so much fear that his victims pleaded for their lives, apologized when they unintentionally swiped his hands away, and then begged to pleasure him, all while blindfolded and placed in positions of vulnerability.

  The rapes had gone on for hours and hours with no relief through any of it.

  It made Trent sick to watch.

  With hardly any sleep, minuscule amounts of food, and his brain working on overdrive, his body was about to shut down. His bones ached, and the room spun as if he were drunk.

  With a quick glance at the clock, he found that once again, he had worked through the night. It was eight-thirty in the morning, and more than past his bedtime.

  Tonight was the night they would take Echols back to the city to answer to management, and for his crimes. His reign of terror marked two cities, crossed over state lines and was considered a federal case, one where Trent got named the chief investigator. The one who would bring his mentor and one of the FBI’s most wanted men down. It was a landmark case. Something to go down in history.

  Echols was labeled as a great mastermind who manipulated the FBI.

  Christ.

  No wonder Charlie couldn’t stand him. He could scarcely look himself in the mirror, was disgusted at being unable to identify Echols earlier, a coward who preyed on the innocence of women, their physical weakness.

  Shoving to his feet, the black leather chair rolled behind him. He grabbed his windbreaker and set it over his arm, taking one last glance at the evidence laid out before making for the door.

  The conference room had been redesigned as the evidence locker for this case, and, until tonight, his office. He stepped out and locked the deadbolt with a click. With as much evidence as they acquired, the chain of command was important and one that would serve a huge role in the upcoming trial. The chief installed a deadbolt on the door and promised him that the room would be covered by surveillance at all times.

  His vision spun again, and he leaned toward the white wood, and set his forehead against the cool surface. He felt like he was experiencing an out-of-body moment, his body so lethargic and tired, he almost considered going back in the room to catch a few hours of sleep. No doubt being locked in with all of that evidence would give him nightmares for weeks to come, but he really didn’t know if he was going to make it back to the hotel room.

  A low, sultry familiar feminine laugh drew him up short, jolting his system like eight cups of espresso.

  He twisted around and saw Charlie mock-punch Dwayne in the arm. The darker-complexioned detective gave her an ear-splitting grin before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his embrace.

  Trent couldn’t move, didn’t dare make a sound. He took his fill of her, and after being deprived of seeing her for so long, he fulfilled his craving. He studied her, and took note of the shadows beneath her eyes, the worry creased along the edges. Her complexion, normally rosy and full of life, now seemed muted, as if someone had zapped it out of her.

  But here she was, laughing, alive, and physically unharmed. He slapped a hand against the wall as a wave of revulsion swept through at the thought of Charlie becoming like any one of those victims. He didn’t know if it was the force of his anger or the lack of sleep, but he trembled, and his fingers shook.

  He stared down at his hands, urged his body to move, and knew he needed to get the hell out of here before Charlie—

  “Trent?”

  He swayed as her voice carried his name in a sweet question. Christ, he couldn’t look at her, didn’t want to see the hurt, pain, or accusation on her face. He wanted to remember her as she was that night in his hotel room, so submitting, giving, and pulling every bit of pleasure from him until his body wept with satisfaction.

  He dropped his hands by his sides and sighed, refused to meet her gaze.

  “Charlie.”

  A step forward and her boots filled his vision. So tiny, he thought, yet this woman was made of steel. Such a strong female to endure those hours of hell. Moreover, being the chief agent in the investigation, he knew every second of what she’d been through, had memorized every detail of her statement.

  “Trent, look at me, please.”

  His chest was tight, and his breath stuttered out in a rush.

  “Charlie, please. I can’t do this right now.”

  “Can’t do what? Look at me?”

  “Goddamnit, fuck!” He ran a heavy hand over his face, lifted it, and met her hazel eyes.

  Her gaze danced over his features. What he saw caused him to suck in a harsh breath. Gone was the anger and revulsion from the night of her attack, and in its place, a soft yearning, understanding, sympathy.

  He didn’t deserve any of it.

  On its own accord, his hand lifted and palmed the side of her face. He brushed the velvety soft skin and fought the urge
to pull her into his arms, the ache to do it so strong, it physically hurt not to give in.

  “I’m so sorry,” he breathed.

  She gave him a small smile and reached up to brush her fingers beneath his eyes. He closed them and soaked her in, revealed in the scent of this woman. Familiar coconuts and vanilla danced in tendrils through his chest.

  “You look exhausted.”

  He leaned into her touch. “I am.”

  Her hand drifted away, and he wanted to cry out in denial. He opened his eyes as she covered his hand and tugged it down. She stepped back, but didn’t release him and instead urged him forward. He followed in mute agreement, past the precipitous quiet row of desks lining the walkway and the chief’s door. He focused on Charlie’s occasional glances over her shoulder, the encouraging smile she tossed when he still followed.

  They stepped outside, and the harsh, bright sun caused him to lift a hand and shield his eyes.

  “Fucking hell, what time is it?”

  “Close to nine. How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

  He racked his mind trying to remember. “Uh, Wednesday?”

  She stopped and spun around. “It’s Friday morning, Trent.”

  He winced at her hardened tone and the alarm flashing across her face. Shit, he wanted the other look back and for her sweet voice to blend in his senses. He must have looked pretty sad standing there trying to come up with something because in a flash, her expression changed, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. It took him a few moments to realize she’d move and more to process his surprise, because as he lifted his arms to return the gesture and hold her close, she stepped away again.

  He sighed as she shifted and gave a sharp tug on his hand once more.

  She led the way to her cruiser, and they both dropped in. He sat back, and the vibration of the vehicle rolled through him, lulling him into peace. The soft music playing in the background, along with the drive, nudged him deeper into the plush seat. He tossed an arm over his eyes to block out the light.

  The next thing he knew, Charlie was shaking him awake. He sat up with a jolt and glanced around. It took a few seconds to recognize his hotel’s parking lot.

  “You fell asleep.”

  Trent’s heart skipped a beat. Bright sunrays caressed her brown curls, and sent highlights of gold sparkling in every direction. She was so goddamn beautiful it hurt. He wanted nothing more than to touch her, feel her, breathe her in.

  “Come on.” She opened her door. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  He stepped out, feeling more and more ridiculous by the minute. She directed his actions, guided him into the hotel and up the elevator. He wanted to say something funny, snap the two of them from whatever serious moment they were having, but couldn’t, and the moment slipped by like a penny down the gutter. Between the lack of sleep and her being here, he felt as if he lived in a dream. It was the latter messing him up, though.

  He didn’t want her to leave, and fought to stay awake long enough to talk. Now that she stood here, taking his plastic card from his pocket and opening the door, guiding him inside the room—he didn’t want to let her go.

  He moved like a disciplined child, followed her actions and soft-spoken commands. She sat him on the bed and bent to remove his shoes. She tossed his boots aside, pulled off his socks, and stood. Stepping between his spread thighs, she reached down his back, encouraged him to lift his arms, and pulled the shirt from over his head. His vision cleared, and her torso filled his eyes.

  She was so close.

  Like a bee to pollen, he reached for her and spanned his hands around her waist. She froze, dropped his shirt from her fingers, and let it glide to the floor on its own.

  He leaned forward until his face pressed into her soft belly. It was all he needed. Just that simple touch. He shuddered and took a deep, shaky breath, pulled her scent into his lungs. God, this woman held his heart in her hands, had the capability to crush him, and he couldn’t let her go. His hands refused to allow her to move. Alarms rang through his mind to be cautious, to go slow, reminding him what she had been through.

  His body and his will overrode any sense, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer. His turned his face, and her heartbeat thundered against his ear. It raced as if she had just run a marathon, yet he couldn’t pull back.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie. Christ, I can’t let go. I just need—” He searched for words, fought with his urges. “I need to hold you. Please, I know I don’t have the right to ask, but goddamn…” He rambled, but like his hold, he was hopeless to stop it. “I keep seeing you there, from that night, keep remembering the helplessness. I couldn’t do anything. I would have never left. I would have caught him had I—I—”

  “Trent, stop.”

  She tugged on his arms, and his heart sank into an endless pit. She lifted his hands and pressed a brief kiss to both in silence.

  He sighed and clenched his teeth against the tightness wrapping around his chest. She tugged him up, began to unsnap his jeans. He stilled her. Disgust, potent as a drug, spread through like a car at the Indy 500. Not with her, but more at himself.

  “Stop, Charlie. I can undress myself.”

  “I know you can.” She pushed his hands aside, and returned to his waist, popped the top button, grabbed the zipper, and tugged. “I want to do this. Please let me help you. I need to do something, Trent. I don’t want to talk, to do anything else but be here. For you. For me. Hell, for us both.”

  His chest softened at her strained words. He could not imagine what she must be feeling, but understood his Charlie. He knew she would try to get a grip on her life again, take control of what she lost. This was her way of attempting to do that. Emotion, something akin to pride, swelled.

  I’m so fucking proud of you.

  She tugged his jeans over his hips, and they fell at his ankles. He stepped out and allowed her to guide him to the bed. He had so much he wanted to say but recognized it wasn’t the time.

  Charlie leaned over and pulled the covers back. He gave in and laid down, and she pulled the sheets and duvet over him. She turned without a word and walked over to the window, tugged on the blackout shades and pulled the cloth close.

  The room plunged into a near state of darkness, only the light from around the window filtering a small amount of sun. She pivoted and he stiffened as she tugged off her jacket and laid it across the couch. The very same couch they first touched upon.

  Next, she pulled her gun and holster off, set it on top of her jacket along with her phone. She bent and tugged off her boots, set them aside, and with a fleeting glance at him, unsnapped her jeans. His breath caught as she pushed the denim to the floor.

  Crossing the room on silent feet, she walked around the bed. Could he dare hope things would work out? He followed her the entire way, unable to tear his gaze from this beautiful, loving, strong woman. She paused at the side of the bed and pulled back the covers, slipped beneath, and crossed the mattress to his side.

  Wordlessly, she tugged his arms open, pulled her body flush against his, and laid her head on his chest. He could hardly breathe, but shuddered as she wrapped her arm around his waist and draped a leg across his. So warm, so soft, so loving.

  “Go to sleep, Trent. I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

  Good to her word, hours later he stirred to the feel of her soft lips trailing along his jaw, their touch light as a butterfly’s wings. His subconscious argued with his mind, the two in a battle of whether he was awake or not. The last thing Trent remembered was falling asleep with Charlie wrapped around him, her warm body heating him from the inside out.

  Now, he was anything but cold, and if the heat building in his groin gave any indicator of how this dream would turn out, he didn’t want to wake. With his eyes open, he would have to hide his desire, keep his touch controlled, and his words locked in a vault. Dreaming though…

  Smooth hands drifted over his chest, c
aressed his skin, toyed with his nipples, and he sucked in a breath at the pleasure, groaning. The kisses dropped to his neck, nipping and soothing the erotic sting with a brush of a velvet tongue. He wanted more, yearned for it and lifted a hand to tangle into her hair. Trent pressed her closer, urged her on.

  The leg tossed over his shifted, and before he realized the intent, an entire body rolled on top of him, cocooning him in warmth. He strained, arched his back off the bed, let the seeking mouth trail hot kisses across his neck. His other hand gripped her rounded rear and urged her hips forward, until a scorching heat radiated through his boxers.

  Too many clothes.

  Not nearly close enough.

  Trent undulated his hips, rolled them forward oh-so-slowly until every inch of his length rubbed between her thighs. Her teeth nipped at his earlobe. He hissed and moaned in pleasure when her lips wrapped around the throbbing skin and sucked. He urged the body on top of him to keep rhythm, to dance with him in an erotic tangle of limbs. That sweet mouth broke off from his ear and trailed its small kisses along the side of his cheek.

  He inhaled deeply as her mouth moved closer, and anticipation warred in his veins. The scent of coconut broke through his senses just as her mouth covered his.

  Trent’s eyes flew open, and he pushed Charlie up by her shoulders. His body cried in agony and denial, wanting to finish this, pleading for more. His cock jerked in an erratic beat, craving the heat surrounding it.

  “Charlie.”

  Her half-lidded eyes, full of desire, met his, her pupils wide and dark and focused in a daze. Her lips were wet and swollen, and she bit down on her bottom one, sucked it in her mouth.

  “Trent, I need you.” She shifted atop him. “I want you. Right here, right now.”

  His breath caught at the sultry desire coating her voice. Her needy hands roamed over his chest while she continued to rock against him. He settled his hands on her hips, stilling her while his jaw clenched at the loss of pleasure. She glanced down with a frown.