Renegade Protector

by Nico Rosso

  She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Chasing perps up those steep San Francisco hills.” It was easy to imagine him charging up a sidewalk, focused fury on his face and all his muscles moving in perfect coordination.

  A darker memory flickered in his eyes. “It’s happened.” He quickly shook it off and glided up the stairs next to her. “How can I help with dinner?”

  “Laundry,” she answered. Inside the house, she collected her still-damp clothes from last night and pointed Ty toward the washing machine in its alcove in the hallway. She’d felt the impact of Ty’s body, and knew he was a man of action. Anyone who could drive as well as he did could take care of a load of clothes.

  “You’ve got it.” He set about getting the machine ready. Something so normal seemed almost trivial after the attacks. But normal was exactly what she needed. One small part of last night’s trauma would be washed away.

  She stole a look at his butt as he bent to load the machine, then continued on her way to the kitchen. Knife out, onions ready on the cutting board, she stood motionless. Ty continued to work in the laundry area. She felt his energy as if he was standing next to her at the kitchen island. As if he was pressed against her.

  The burn of the chopped onions would hopefully erase those thoughts. She broke them down, wiping the tears from her eyes with her forearm, and still couldn’t shake the need that drew her to him. It came from deeper inside her than she expected. She tried to justify it as a side effect of his helping her through all this trouble. Of course she’d feel bonded with the man who stopped a parking lot assault and kept her from getting run off the road. But the quiet they’d shared on the back hill resonated even more than that.

  “Where do you need me now?” He filled the doorway to the kitchen.

  The first answer that came to mind had nothing to do with household chores. She cleared her throat and answered, “Can you make rice?”

  He moved into the kitchen, scratching the side of his head. “I’m better with mashed potatoes, but I can work with a recipe.”

  “I’ll talk you through it.” She pointed with her knife at a shelf of pots and pans under the island. “It starts with that pot.” Dammit, even these ordinary tasks were still charged. Seeing his hands around the pot gave her a chance to really see how large they were.

  He stood still long enough that it was clear he saw her staring at his hands. “Rice?” he asked once her gaze moved up to his face.

  Remembering the process helped clear her mind. “In that cabinet. We’ll rinse it first.” She talked him through the recipe as she assembled what she needed for the rest of the meal. Once the rice was steaming, she moved to the stove with her cutting board full of onions, carrots, bell peppers and herbs. Ty continued to help, straining cans of beans and getting them ready for their turn in the pan.

  She’d never cooked with a man before. On the rare occasions where she and Pete had time to share a homemade meal, it had been one or the other at the stove. Usually her. Ty moved easily around her and through the space as he followed directions. A simple dinner of beans and rice was transforming into a feast for the senses.

  Once the food was done and plates assembled, she opened the cupboard for glasses. “Wine?”

  “Water.” The reality of his meaning drew a little chill into the room. Danger was always looming.

  She poured out two waters and carried them to the small table in the window nook at the side of the kitchen. The sun had set, turning the window into a mirror. The reflection showed Ty approach with the plates. Her pulse quickened seeing him close to her, as if she was peering in at two other people who didn’t know they were being watched. And from the heat in his eyes as he looked at her, she felt like she witnessed the prelude to something very erotic.

  But it was just dinner. She told herself that again and again as they settled at the table and began their meal. “Nice work on the rice,” she told him.

  He toasted her with his glass of water. “Just following your directions.”

  “Add it to your repertoire.” The spiced beans brought a deeper calm. “Where’d you get the mashed potatoes?”

  “My mom.” He smiled warmly. “Trained me until I got them right before going away to college.”

  “You’re getting a family recipe here, too.” It seemed like this plate of food was always available in the kitchen. “My mom, from my grandmother and who knows how far back.”

  “It’s good.” His eating slowed, and he focused on the food. “It’s great.”

  The genuine appreciation he showed made her pay new attention to the food. Warm spices embraced her with the hands of family. “It’s not too simple?”

  “It’s not simple at all.” As his gaze moved to her face, she felt her skin light up. “It’s you.”

  More heat spread around the small of her back and up her chest. The two of them ate in silence for a while, the quiet meaning just as much as the words. Ty looked about this nook of the kitchen and she watched him absorb the details.

  “I’m sorry about your folks.” He spoke softly. “I read about them when I was looking into this case.”

  Pain from losing them would never go away, but she’d learned to let it pass through her, rather than tearing her from the inside out. “Thank you. Your parents are...?” She didn’t have files on Ty to search through.

  “Still around.” His smile returned. It was a tricky grin. Elusive, like he had to hide it before he revealed too much. “Daly City. Dad teaches high school history and civics. Mom’s got an office job at a nonprofit for at-risk kids.”

  “More justice.” He came into clearer focus for her.

  He nodded with a small laugh. “Family recipe.” She watched him tilt his head up, eyes focusing on somewhere else. The past or the future. The kitchen light revealed the shapes of his face and she stared too long. The cords of his neck led to a strong jaw. His mouth, always so expressive, now held in a line, musing. Broad nose. And those eyes, sharp with perception. Her gaze slid back to his full lips. A new hunger that had nothing to do with food yearned deep in her.

  “Dessert?” Her voice came out like a seduction.

  He met her gaze. “What’ve you got?” Did she see his need, or was that just her projecting what she wanted on him.

  “Apple pie.” She stood. “Of course.”

  He collected the empty plates before she could and took them to the sink. “I’ll take a slice.”

  Now she wasn’t sure he was talking about dessert at all. But she hadn’t been, either. “Sydney makes them with the apples I give her.” She cut broad slices from the pie her friend had given her two days ago. Just two days. Before all this had happened. Before Ty had appeared.

  He didn’t need to be reminded where to find the plates and brought two small ones, with fresh forks. “Her shop smelled amazing.” Without stopping, he backed out of the kitchen. “Laundry’s got to go in the dryer.”

  She moved the slices to the plates and gathered them. “We’ll take them to the living room.” She caught up to him in the hallway. “I’m sure there are emails from the neighbors I’ve got to field.”

  “Hit-and-run. Probably a teenage joyride or a stolen car.” He trailed behind her. “The gunshot was a tire blowing out, but I patched it and everything’s fine.”

  The story sounded true enough, infused with his police authority and experience. “They should buy that.” She ran over it again in her head to figure out how to word the email. She reached the living room and put the pie next to her computer. Ty sat on the couch, plate in hand. When her laptop flicked on, the first thing on the screen was the article she’d found about some of his police work. He was good at his job. She tried to take confidence in that for whatever was coming next. Those bad guys in the article had been put away.

  “It doesn’t always work out.” His pie remained untouched. Shadows crossed his face as he looked away
from the computer screen and out the black windows. “I’ve found all the evidence, built the case, and the bastards still walk. Money’s power. There are back rooms I’m not allowed in where the deals are made.” Anger crept into his voice. “Innocent people suffer so someone can keep turning a profit.”

  She was on her feet and walking toward him before the decision had been made. He looked too alone sitting there. Even Toro approached cautiously. She stood behind the couch and laid her hand on Ty’s shoulder. The stillness of his body was a shock.

  He continued, “I knew a family who owned a little convenience store. Good location. Too good to pass up for a chain to come in. Someone broke the father’s leg in a hit-and-run.” She winced and tightened her grip on him. His voice remained even. “I found the driver, I even found the links that connected him to someone at the chain’s corporate level. But the lawyers cut a deal, the driver got a slap on the wrist and the spotlight never hit the corporation.” A deep breath made his shoulders rise and fall under her touch. “And they got their location.”

  “No justice.”

  He put his hand on hers and looked up at her. “It’ll come.” Conviction was set on his face. “But it won’t make the papers.” At times, he seemed made of iron, but she saw—and she felt—how much of a man he was. Flesh and blood. And a heart. “Put their mind at ease,” he said, looking again at the laptop. “I’m going to savor this pie.” His hand slid from hers and he took up the fork.

  She moved back to the laptop, and sure enough, there were two emails from neighbors about the trouble on the road. Ty’s prepared story looked like truth on the screen. Typing hit-and-run slowed her down as the weight of what he’d just told her combined with what was really intended for her in the assault. Once the emails were sent she picked up her slice of pie and carried it to the couch.

  Ty remained in his spot, pie uneaten. He shrugged off her quizzing look. “I told you I was going to savor it.” She sat next to him and dug into her piece. He picked up a forkful. “You didn’t think I’d eat this without you.”

  She had to look away, just as he slid the food into his mouth, eyes closed. Just seeing that had ignited a flame down her chest and deep into her belly. His perception could turn so...sensual. “Are you always such a gentleman?”

  Dios, she was looking right at him when he opened his eyes slowly to reveal a wicked gleam in them. “Not always.”

  “Good.” A gentleman wouldn’t be able to take on the bastards who were attacking her. A gentleman wouldn’t be able to feed the hunger she was feeling. And she didn’t have to fight fair, either. She took her time with her bite of pie, knowing he was watching.

  He licked his lips, fire in his eyes. “Tastes so fine.”

  “You like it?” she asked in a smoky voice. The couch seemed to sink in the middle, drawing them closer together. The side of her knee touched his.

  He rumbled, “I don’t think I’ll get enough.”

  She placed her plate on the coffee table. “I want more.”

  He put his plate next to hers, then turned back to face her. Her breath slowed and her heart raced. His gaze moved over her face. Hot fingers interlaced with hers. She reached forward and placed her hand on his chest. The connection flowed with electricity. He stared into her eyes, not moving. She nodded and curled her fingernails into his chest to urge him forward.

  Currents of heat concentrated as he drew closer. The world went dark as she closed her eyes. Everything she needed to know she could feel in his nearness. His mouth met hers and she immediately understood his need. Firm lips brushed against hers in strokes, then pressed hard. She met his intensity with her own hunger.

  The flavor of spiced apples mixed with the smoky and earthy taste that was him. Her hand on his chest slid higher until she felt his strong neck. She stroked over his jaw and along the tight curls of his hair. He growled into her mouth and surged his body against hers. His fingers smoothed over her temple, wound into her hair and held there.

  The two of them were locked together. His tongue darted out and tested across her lips. She opened for him and teased his tongue forward with hers. They slid against each other, communicating their yearning wordlessly. Their hands were still clasped. The grip tightened. Her body had to have more. Nipples tight, heat gathering between her legs. Satisfying these needs might mean burning everything down.

  She parted the kiss and gasped for breath. Their bodies remained knotted close. He leaned his forehead against hers. Her pulse throbbed through her, driving heat to the deepest corners. A tremble started between her shoulders and shot down her arms. The intensity with Ty was too much, too hot.

  He must’ve read her and gently unwound his fingers from her hand and her hair. She dropped her hand from the back of his neck. It glanced against his firm chest as she drew it back. This solid man seemed to be the answer to hungers she’d long forgotten about. But after all the needs were sated, what would be left?

  A war raged between her body and her mind. Chaos swirled everywhere. Attacks and firebombings and car crashes. Secret justice. Ty fighting for her, and igniting her. She found her voice. “I have to say good-night.”

  He blinked slowly. The intensity remained in his eyes as an understanding grew. Standing, he steadied himself and took a step back. She stood as well and the two of them collected their plates. They maintained a safe distance during the procession to the kitchen, yet she still felt how he shook the air around him. The lights were turned off behind them, narrowing the house to only where they were.

  Ty stood at the bottom of the stairs. Toro ran ahead to her bedroom. She was halfway up when Ty spoke. “Good night.”

  She draped the words over her shoulders like a shirt still warm from his body. His kiss still shook her. The hunger remained on his face. Their gazes held for a moment, then parted. He turned off the light and disappeared into the shadows. She walked to her bedroom alone.

  * * *

  FOG FROM THE sea covered the landscape outside the guest bedroom window. The mist held the night quiet. Ty didn’t feel quiet at all. He lay in bed, smelling the salty air coming in from the gap in the upper window and trying to concentrate on the comic book in his hands. It was the second time he’d looked through it.

  But sweet honeyed apples continued to lure his brain into a fever. The taste on her lips. And the heat of her touch, her body, remained close to him. It didn’t reach deep enough, though. Past the skin. That would be satisfied only if he held her against him. Tight. Breathing her in as she dug her fingers into his back.

  He tossed the comic book on the bedside table and turned off the dim lamp there. The fog from outside seemed to press closer, hazing the details of the room in the darkness. But he could feel Mariana burning bright above him.

  She was right to end the kiss. This attraction, this need complicated everything. The threat was ongoing, and he wasn’t sure what it would take to stop it yet. Tomorrow might tell that. But tonight...

  Mariana was in too vulnerable a spot, and he would not take advantage of that. Pursuing this desire couldn’t be part of the mission. He slid his holstered pistol higher on the mattress next to him. He would fight for her until the end. He felt for her and didn’t know how to stop.

  Chapter Eight

  Sunrise startled Mariana awake. She lay still in bed, listening. There was no sign of trouble and Toro snoozed calmly on the rug. Mostly, she was shocked that she was able to sleep at all. When the lights were out, her mind had been a jumble of insurance paperwork, car attacks and that kiss with Ty. She must’ve been more exhausted than she’d known to find any rest in the midst of that.

  Toro unwound himself and stood when she swung out of bed. He was in the same spot, wagging his tail, when she emerged from the bathroom and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The two of them came down the stairs as sunlight continued to brighten the house.

  A faint metallic sound from the k
itchen froze her. Her legs flashed with cold heat and she regretted leaving her rifle in the bedroom closet. But Toro remained cool and trotted ahead to where he was normally fed. She crept forward down the hall, past the closed guest room door. Another sound from the kitchen. Movement.

  And the smell of fresh coffee.

  Relief swept in and her feet felt more firmly grounded on the floor. Before she reached the doorway she saw Ty in her kitchen, pulling two mugs from the drying rack next to the sink and setting them next to the brewing coffee. Jeans, T-shirt and a hoodie, he seemed perfectly comfortable in her space. Maybe the kiss didn’t have to be stopped. Waking up to his making breakfast felt like the start to the kind of life she wanted to lead.

  The bulge of the gun on his belt frosted that hope. Deadly reality remained.

  He saw her in the hallway and smiled. “Mornin’.” His hands remained busy collecting the coffee necessities. “I watched you make it yesterday and think I figured out your formula.”

  “Looks like you cracked the code.” She put Toro’s food together, then joined Ty at the counter. “Toast?”

  “Bring it on.” A new hesitancy tempered his energy. The intimacy of the kiss had told her so much. And she’d expressed her needs to him with it. But ending it the way they had left an air of caution between them. “Did you sleep?” he asked.

  “Better than I thought I would.” It hadn’t solved all her problems, but at least she had the energy to face them. “You?”

  “Eventually.” It was all he needed to say. Many men would be surly after being cut off, but she saw none of that darkness in him. Not that the attraction had gone away. That magnetic pull still drew her close to him, and it took extra effort not to find the stability of his shoulder when she stood next to him at the island. He poured out coffee. “This’ll get us ready for the Hanley Group.”

  The acid of hot coffee in her stomach suddenly felt less appealing. Tension made her hand shake as she cut slabs of bread. “Right.”