All I Need (Hearts of the South)

by Linda Winfree

  Arm about his waist, she hugged herself to him. “I brought dinner.”

  “Awesome.” He dropped another quick kiss on her lips. “You just didn’t want me to make you a sandwich.”

  “I’m so teaching you to cook.”

  “You can try.”

  On a light laugh, she pulled him toward the door, some of her weariness falling away in his presence. “Let’s eat before it gets cold. I had a granola bar for lunch, and I’m starved.”

  As they unpacked containers of General Tso’s chicken, fried rice, and Chinese vegetables, she gestured at the boxes. “When did you have time to pack up all of the apartment?”

  “I didn’t.” He bit into a crab Rangoon. “Those are from my storage unit.”

  Leaning on the counter, she frowned. “What’s in them?”

  A sheepish expression crossed his face. “About five years’ worth of Christmas and birthday gifts from my mom. She buys all this house stuff she thinks I need, right? And you know I’m about the basics. It makes her happy and this way it’s not in my way.”

  “I don’t even…” She shook her head. “So why is it here?”

  “There’s more room.” He twirled a finger to indicate the size of the common area. “I thought there might be some things you wanted to use here.”

  “Your poor mother.” She grabbed the container of vegetables, stabbed a plastic fork in it, and headed for the first box. “Let’s see what you have.”

  She unfolded the flaps to find dishes, cutlery, and glassware—classic, quality, and still in the original packaging. A laugh bubbled up from her chest. “It’s more like what don’t you have. Em, really? She buys you great stuff and you put it in storage?”

  He settled on the floor beside her, carton of General Tso’s chicken in hand, wrists balanced on his updrawn knees. “I think she confuses me with Clark sometimes. Hell, half the stuff in his kitchen? He stole it after Mama gave it to me.”

  “That would explain why his casserole dishes match your serving ware.”

  “And why the hell would I need serving ware?”

  She ignored him. “Look at this gorgeous pasta server.”

  “Is that what that is? I thought it was an ice scoop.”

  “You’re hopeless.” She forked up a couple of bites of vegetables.

  They ate while she discovered more forgotten treasures in each box—picture frames, glass lanterns, candlesticks, a couple of woven throws. She set her empty carton aside and ran a palm over the velvety fabric.

  “I don’t think you need to actually buy anything for this house.” She glanced up to find his gaze, soft and clear, on her face and a smile playing about his mouth. “What?”

  He shook his head, still looking at her. “Just thinking what a damn lucky man I am.”

  The quiet intensity flustered her, and she defaulted to smartass teasing. “Because your mama buys you things?”

  He didn’t rise to the bait. “Because you’re here with me.”

  This time, she reached for him, curving a hand around his nape to pull his mouth down to hers, careful of his still-healing lip. She pulled back enough to see her own reflection in his eyes. “I believe you said something about trying out that brand-new bed?”

  A lazy smile hitched at his mouth. “I kind of owe you slow and easy after the other night, don’t I?”

  “We’re not keeping score, remember?” She rubbed her thumb lightly below his healing stitches. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  “Yeah.” With a quiet chuckle, he rolled to his feet and bent to gather the remnants of their dinner. After carrying the cartons and cups into the kitchen, he returned and held out a hand, then drew her into the bedroom.

  Fiery rays of light danced over the polished floor. He stood before her and loosened her hair from its messy knot. He played his fingers through it, massaging her scalp, then cupped the back of her head, lifting her face to his. “You’re amazing.”

  She linked her arms about his waist. Before she could speak, he brushed his mouth over hers.

  “When I tell you I love you, I want you to know why,” he murmured close to her ear. His rough chuckle stirred her hair. “I know it’s soon, and I don’t want you to think it’s all about the sex, although that’s pretty amazing too.”

  She laughed, despite the ache in her throat and the fluttery desire his words engendered.

  “I love how smart you are.” He trailed kisses along the side of her neck, while he slid his hands beneath the hem of her shirt. He pulled back long enough to strip the thin T-shirt over her head. Lowering his head, he hooked a finger under her bra strap and slid it aside. He pressed his lips to the slight groove left behind. “And that you make me laugh.”

  “Emmett…” She ran her hands up his spine, shaping muscles beneath oft-washed cotton. He seduced her with soft touches and even softer words.

  “I love how dedicated you are to your work, to helping people, and that you get my being a cop.” His nimble fingers made quick work of her bra clasp, and he slid the garment down her arms to fall to the floor. He curved his palms around the sides of her breasts and brushed feathery circles over her nipples with his thumbs. She gasped, and he graced her with a lazy smile. “I love how strong you are and how soft you can be.”

  “You don’t have to say these things,” she breathed. Wanting pulsed under her skin, aching desire clenching her lower belly and between her thighs.

  “I need to say these things.” He tangled his hands in her hair again, holding her gaze under his, dark with emotion. “Savannah, I want to take you to bed and make love to you.”

  He was already making love to her, with all those sweet words of devotion. The guilt tried to take hold, but she tamped it down.

  Enjoy being with him.

  Amy’s words, and maybe it was foolhardy, but she was going to simply live in this moment. She touched her fingers to his lips. “I want that too.”

  * * * * *

  The west- and north-facing windows meant waking to darkness, but even so, hints of light touched the trees beyond the windows. Savannah closed her eyes again, relishing the warmth of Emmett’s body at her back, his thighs beneath hers, his arm curled across her chest, and a hand cupping her shoulder.

  He pressed a sleepy kiss to her jaw, nose brushing her cheek. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

  She hugged his arm to her. Was it wrong to want to wake up like this every day? To want a life with him? “What?”

  “The view over the river.” The sun had been setting as he made love to her, casting golden light over their entwined bodies on new white sheets. Afterward, she’d rested her head on his shoulder, watching the last of the day disappear behind the trees in a wild glow of pink, gold, and orange.

  “It’s incredible.” She rubbed her hand along his forearm. “The company’s not bad either.”

  She relaxed into him, soaking in the sweet sense of rightness at being here, in his arms, in his bed, in his home.

  Their home, if he had his way.

  That idea felt right as well.

  “I think I love you.” The words slipped from her lips before she was even aware of forming them.

  He stilled, not even seeming to breathe.

  “What?” A shaky laugh puffed over her cheek. “You think you love me?”

  She fought off a sudden wave of panic. Heart pounding, she rolled and pushed him to his back. She leaned over him, her palm resting above his heart. “Em, please don’t make it weird.”

  “Don’t make it weird?” He laughed for real, the sound rumbling up from his chest and vibrating under her hand. His eyes glimmered with emotion, though. “I guess it’s better than you kinda want to be my friend and fuck me.”

  “You’re impossible.” She planted her other hand on the mattress by him and leveraged away.

  In a swift move, he wrapped an arm around her waist, tangled a hand in her hair, and dragged her down to him. His mouth devoured hers, tongue delving between her lips, until
he winced and lightened the kiss. She lifted her head, his heart a hard pulse beneath her hand. He caressed the back of her head with gentle fingers, and he stared at her, his gaze intense.

  “If you think you love me, Savannah, I’ll take it.”

  * * * * *

  “Beck, quit vibrating.” Walker braked to make the turn onto 112. “I told you, it makes me crazy.”

  “Can’t help it.” He stretched out his legs, trying to dispel the energy that way rather than jittering. The move produced an ache in his injured thigh, but it was more a hey-you’re-alive hurt than anything else. He needed a call—those focused him. When they were just riding around, thoughts ping-ponged through his brain.

  She thought she loved him, but what exactly did that mean?

  What could he do to make her fall the rest of the way?

  And if she fell the rest of the way, could she handle that? Maybe things needed to rock on like they were.

  He almost wished she hadn’t said anything because “I think” was sort of like “we might go to Disney World” and then one was stuck in a state of suspended anticipation, equal parts excitement and fear.

  She made him crazy.

  “Beck.” Walker’s terse voice brought him back. “Now you’re tapping the door. Really, man?”

  “I’m sorry.” He pulled his hands into his lap.

  “What the fuck is with you?”

  “Savannah thinks she loves me. I don’t know what to do with that.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “And dear God, I’m so over the edge, I’m talking to you.”

  “Thanks.” Ironic humor twisted Walker’s tone. “Trust me, kid, her thinking she loves you is a sight better than ‘You’re never home, we can’t rely on you, and I’m tired of worrying about you, so I found some guy with an eight-to-five.’”

  “Yeah.” He definitely couldn’t argue with that.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  He frowned out the window. The long-empty convenience store at Hatcher’s Crossing flashed by. “What if she decides she doesn’t?”

  Walker cast him a skeptical glance, brows lowered. “You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?”

  “What?”

  “The woman’s telling you she thinks she loves you. She’s not going to decide she doesn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She’s trusting you enough to say that out loud. She’s pretty sure of you, then. She trusts you that much, you’re good to go.”

  The logic made a twisted kind of sense. The bitch of it was he didn’t trust her not to let her emotions send her right out the door.

  “How does she look at you?”

  “Huh?” Lost in deconstructing Walker’s theory, his brain took a second to register the question.

  “How does she look at you?” Walker slowed his words as though speaking to a four-year-old. Emmett glowered at him, then frowned in concentration.

  “It depends.” When she wanted him, like she could eat him alive. Some of the shuttered self-protection seemed to be gone from her eyes the past few days, and every so often, he saw in her gaze something soft that gave him hope and scared the hell out of him all at the same time.

  “You even know how a woman looks at you when she loves you?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve seen it on other women, though, right? You hang out with Farr, and it’s plain how his wife feels about him, just from how she looks at him.”

  “Yeah.” He’d seen it on Savannah’s sister too, the way she practically glowed whenever Bennett was around. Her mom obviously loved their dad, also, although there was sometimes a hint of indulgent exasperation in her expression. He’d seen that same look flash across Savannah’s face a couple of time when they were shopping.

  He relaxed into the seat. At least he had a point of reference.

  But she didn’t want to love him. He knew that as surely as he knew he did love her. She was unpredictable as well when it came to her emotions. All the unknowns swirled into one big sensation—fear of loss.

  He hated it.

  The radio blipped, their dispatcher calling for available units to respond to an automobile accident a few miles from their location. Walker accelerated before Emmett even reached for the radio.

  Troy Lee responded right after Emmett. “C-13, C-2-A en route also, Chandler.”

  The centralized 911 channel flared with traffic, Clark and Jim confirming they were in transit from the northern end of the county.

  Walker swooped through the curves and hills that made up the rural highway. Within minutes, he turned onto County Line Road, Troy Lee’s Charger close behind him. As they topped the first hill, the accident scene came into view. Black smoke poured skyward, and flames leaped high from the car angled into the ditch.

  “Son of a bitch,” Walker whispered. He maneuvered the car to block one lane, Troy Lee doing the same with the other lane, leaving room for the volunteer-fire-department trucks as the firefighters called in estimated arrival times. “Hope no one’s still in that.”

  Emmett exited the car, his attention zeroed in on the details of the scene. The blaze licked at the branches above the car, the fire roaring and wood popping and spitting. The acrid smell of burning rubber and charring metal assaulted his nostrils. The cadence of the running feet behind him belonged to Troy Lee, and Bennett’s voice came from the rear of Troy Lee’s car. The rumble of an ambulance engine competed with the growl of the fire.

  He stopped short, mere yards from the ditch.

  No debris littered the grass—no glass, no plastic, no metal.

  His gaze jerked to the trees in front of the car. No impact mark on the bark.

  Troy Lee hissed in a breath right behind him. “No skid marks.”

  Instincts fired to life, and Emmett spun, stabbing a hand toward their units and the emergency vehicles. “Get back. Get down.”

  The round hit between his shoulder blades with the force of a ball-peen hammer and pitched him forward. The rifle report cracked, audible over the fire and Troy Lee’s shouts to take cover.

  Instinct screamed that if he fell, he was dead. Somehow he stayed on his feet. He zigzagged, trying to close the distance to Troy Lee’s Charger, nearer than his and Walker’s unit.

  The same hammer-like blow nailed him right below the ribs. Another report. His own breathing loud in his ears, he scrambled behind the Charger’s hood. He put his back to the wheel. His chest heaved. Pain pulsed in his back. He didn’t feel anything wet trickling down his spine, so maybe the vest had held.

  A third snap. The temporary safety provided by the wheel gave him an opportunity to assess the scene. Bennett rested against the rear wheel in a similar posture. Emmett couldn’t see behind the ambulance, but he assumed Troy Lee and the others also employed vehicle wheels as shields. At the highway turnoff, fire trucks stopped, red lights sparking in the bright fall sunlight. They didn’t approach but remained at a standstill.

  His auditory processing finally returned, although his heartbeat seemed too loud and he could feel it thudding in his throat. The fire roared and his pulse pounded in his ears, but he could hear Troy Lee, not shouting but voice raised, rattling off information. He fumbled his handheld to the department’s encrypted tactical channel. A fourth gunshot, followed closely by a fifth, rang out.

  “He’s above us.” Bennett gestured toward the top of the car.

  “Yeah.” It made sense—the highest point in the county lay in the hills up the road. The bastard could see them as well as any backup responding from Highway 112. Sure enough, the radio exploded with Troy Lee’s rapid voice.

  “Shooter appears to be west of us, within a quarter of a mile.”

  Emmett pulled in a deep breath and regretted it as pain seized his lungs and surrounding muscles. Fuck. He wasn’t going to sit with his back to the threat. He and Bennett had the best vantage point, with the ambulance blocking Walker’s view. In the tightest movement he could manage, Emmett rolled to a forward-facing crouch, still c
overed by the wheel well. His shoes scraping on asphalt seemed preternaturally loud. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Bennett making the same move.

  The gunshots had come from the west. He peered over the trunk. Damn, he wished he had a mirror. He swept a quick glance across rolling hills, cows gathered by a stream bisecting a field, the cell tower rising over the pasture, and the road undulating beyond them. Maybe there—a distant tree line between the pastures and a small residential area. He squinted, watching the trees. Binoculars would be a dream right now.

  A flash glimmered for a second among the darkness of the trees. The light bar exploded above them, showering down shards of glass and plastic. Emmett ducked and met Bennett’s tense gaze, then lifted his radio mike. “He’s in the tree line along Rodney Hatcher’s land, about a hundred yards west of the cell tower. I don’t know how anybody’s going to get to him without him knowing.”

  Now, all they could do was wait.

  * * * * *

  “How am I supposed to word this?” Heavy brows drawn together into a frown, Investigator Cook settled onto the spare rolling stool behind the counter and frowned at his phone. “Complainant alleges physical attack by demonic entity. Physical exam reveals no injuries. Possible untreated mental illness. No arrest.”

  Scratching notes on the chart, Savannah half-listened to him. Tick Calvert was in exam two with Layla, taking the statement from a home-invasion victim. Savannah figured Cook had the easy one.

  She finished annotating the chart with directions and set it aside. “We’ll put her on a seventy-two-hour hold, but transfer her to Phoebe once they confirm they have room on their psych floor. They’re better equipped than we are for this type of case.”

  Maybe sooner or later, an ambulance would free up for that too. The day had been insane. She was sure neither ambulance team had quit running all day. They were still waiting for word on possible injuries from a reported vehicle accident in the north end of the county.

  Exam two’s door opened and closed harder than it should, the thud reverberating through the common area. Savannah opened her mouth to correct Calvert, but the words died at the tense urgency on his face.