“Don’t go,” she murmured.
“Time to put the steaks on,” he said as she tried to pull him back in the bed.
“We don’t need to eat. We can just stay buried in here ’til all the snow melts.” Given how good sex with him was, the idea sounded better and better to her.
He chuckled as he pulled on his jeans. “Sorry, counselor. Despite what you might’ve heard, man cannot live by sex alone. We need meat.” Reaching down, he kissed her for a few more beeps of the timer then drew the covers up around her. “You stay here. About fifteen more minutes and then dinner will be ready.”
Drawing his pillow up against her, she watched him move about the kitchen through the open doorway. The man had a smooth, efficient and confident manner about him. From the first time she’d seen him late last spring, she’d been unable to truly put him out of her mind.
Suddenly a grey and white furry body appeared on the side of the bed. Rolling over, she scratched the wolf-dog’s head and looked into his blue eyes, so reminiscent of Wes’s.
“Hello, Wöden. Is it starting to smell good out there? Do you think I should get dressed and go help?”
As if understanding what she asked, Wöden walked around the bed wagging his bushy tail, looking much more like an overgrown puppy than a fierce wolf.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing her clothes from the floor where they’d landed earlier. “I get the message.”
A few minutes later, dressed but still chilly from the loss of body heat from Wes and the covers, she stood in front of the roaring fire. On the fireplace mantle sat some framed pictures. One of an elderly couple and a teenage boy, taken about twenty years ago.
“That’s Nana and Poppy,” Wes said behind her as he set plates on the island counter. “They raised me after my mom, Carla, left to go live with her last deadbeat boyfriend.”
“By the smiles on all your faces, they love you very much.”
“They did. Nana died my junior year of college. Poppy not long after I made into the Army Rangers.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you keep in contact with your mother?”
Wes shook his head as he laid the butter and sour cream onto the counter between the plates. “Last time I heard anything about her was from Nana about a year before she died. Carla was living in some sort of back-to-nature commune in the southwest. After Nana died, neither Poppy nor I made an effort to find out anything about her.”
The tenor of his voice told Chloe that conversation thread was done. He’d answer no more questions about his mother. Picking up the other framed picture of a group of men in combat fatigues, all armed and gathered around a sand-colored Humvee-looking vehicle, she carried it over to the counter. “And this is you in where? Iraq or Afghanistan?”
He cut up one steak and put the pieces into a dog bowl on the floor for Wöden, then finished loading their plates with the baked potatoes and steak. Sitting beside her on one of the barstools, he took the picture from her. The lines around his eyes and mouth tightened a bit as he stared at it. His body went still and a faraway look filled his eyes. Where ever he’d just gone, it was painful for him. Chloe waited.
Finally, he set the picture on the counter above the food. “My first tour of duty in Afghanistan.” Without further comment, he began loading up his potato with butter, sour cream and cheese.
Chloe followed suit, enjoying the companionable silence as they ate their meal, complete with a nice Merlot. So many questions about Wes’s time in the military, his dark-ops career, what had happened on that last mission, and if he was still active rolled around in her head, but she’d learned years ago with some of her clients, patience on her part sometimes got her better results than grilling them with questions.
“That’s Steve Janowski,” Wes finally said when his steak was gone, pointing to the bald, shorter, stockier man with a medic symbol on his uniform, standing beside the younger version of Wes. “You know him as Bulldog.”
“The man you have looking after Dylan?” Chloe took a drink of her wine, studying the man in the photo. “He’s a medic?”
“Best there is. Also a surgical PA.”
Understanding hit her. “So he could work with my sister and keep an eye out for danger without tipping her off?”
Wes nodded. “Or anyone else. He’s good at putting people back together, but just as skilled at taking them apart.”
“Who are the other guys?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, sipping on her wine, her hunger pleasantly satisfied.
“On the far left is Justin Renner. We called him Cannon,” he said pointing at a medium-sized, medium-height African American with a saucy grin, holding what looked like a combination rifle and machine gun.
“Cannon because of the big gun in his hands?”
Wes coughed on a strangled laugh. “Not exactly. He got the name for two reasons. First, because he could throw a football like an NFL quarterback, accurate and made your hands hurt when you caught it.”
“And the second reason?”
“Well, a certain part of his anatomy was built like a cannon.” Wes lifted a knowing eyebrow her direction.
It was Chloe’s turn to choke on laughter. “I should’ve known. Put young guys together and you start measuring your manhoods—literally.”
A cheeky smile lifted the corners of Wes’s mouth. He pointed to the lanky redhead next in line in the picture. “The man next to him is Isaac Bridger, aka Snake.”
“Let me guess, he’s built like a snake?” She shook her head, returning the grin.
“Nah. He got the name because he could slither into and out of tight spots without anyone knowing.” Wes scooted out his chair and began gathering up the plates.
She studied Snake’s picture a moment.
“What?” Wes asked.
“Nothing really. It’s just he looks familiar. You know, like I might’ve run across him.”
A dark look crossed Wes’s features. “Impossible.”
“Why?” she asked, already knowing his answer.
“Because he’s buried in the jungles of South America.” Wes’s face had hardened and his mouth pressed into a thin line.
The last mission. And she knew he was done talking about it—for now.
She looked at the photo again and pointed to the next man, taller than the others, built like a football player and holding a dog. “And him?”
“Bruno Carpachio.”
“What was his nick name? Lasagna?”
He shook his head. “No. With a name like Bruno he didn’t need one. Guy was great at breaking down walls when we needed him, too.”
“And the dog?”
The corner of Wes’s lip lifted. “We found him in an empty house one day. Bruno gave him some of his MRE and the little guy followed us back to camp.”
“Did he get to bring the dog home?”
The whisper of a smile disappeared from Wes’s mouth. “Bruno couldn’t care for him, as he was going into another assignment. Before we returned state side, he gave him to a group of kids. Hopefully they didn’t make him into stew.”
“I hope not, too.” She took another drink of her wine as she watched Wes move about the kitchen, pulling out a box of graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows. The man kept his promise. Apparently, they were having s’mores for desert. “So this new assignment of Bruno’s, was it part of your special operations group?”
“You can’t help being a lawyer, can you?” Wes said, carrying the tray of s’mores ingredients along with two long wire skewers over to the fireplace.
“I’ve always been full of questions. I figure if you want to know something, you should ask.”
Chloe brought both their glasses of wine and settled down beside him on the rug in front of the fire. He handed her the marshmallows and skewers then picked up the poker to stir the fire. Without waiting for instructions, she loaded two marshmallows on the skewers.
“Did you think your curiosity might’ve been what got you into this predicament?
” he asked as he set another log onto the fire.
“The old curiosity killed the cat theory Bobby always warned me about as a kid?” she asked, handing him the skewers to toast the marshmallows over the fire. Not wanting to really address his question, she focused on opening the crackers and chocolate bars, layering them on the plate to await the hot marshmallows.
“Your rebellion against an older sister aside. You’ve pushed the limits a few times in these cases. Turning information over to the DA about one of your firm’s clients. Taking on a big conglomerate for your client by investigating their finances and not accepting their offer without question. Finding out about the sporting goods guy to make sure he pays? Yeah, I’d say your questions could’ve landed you in this mess.”
“You left out the domestic abuse case,” she said through nearly clenched teeth. How dare he say she brought this upon herself by doing what was right?
“That would be your crusader gene going wild.”
“My what?” She looked at him with incredulity.
“That gene where you know what’s right and by God you’re going to be sure that justice is done. Bobby has it, too. Don’t know Dylan well enough, but I suspect she shares it with you two,” he said as he pulled the skewer back and blew out the fire on the toasted to near perfection marshmallows.
“You don’t believe people should do what’s right?” She settled graham crackers on top of the marshmallows as he slid them on top of the chocolate bars, sandwiching them together.
“Despite what you and your sisters believe, the world isn’t so cut and dried, black and white. There’s a whole lot of gray out there.” Without further comment, he picked up a s’more and took a big bite, his eyes lit up as if he was in heaven.
As much as she’d love to inform him that she was well aware of the gray areas both in the law and people’s moral compasses, his enjoyment of the dessert and her own sweet tooth won out. She’d indulge in one s’more, then she’d give him her opinion on his opinion on her.
Picking up one of the gooey treats, she sank her teeth into it, letting her eyes close in pure bliss.
A warm breath caressed her cheeks.
Opening her eyes he gaze locked on his, his face mere centimeters from hers, the flame of the fire mirrored in his blue eyes.
“You have chocolate on your lips,” he said, his voice huskier than normal.
“I do?” Her words came out whispery, sort of mimicking the little flutters in her stomach.
“Want me to get it?” he asked moving slightly closer.
Eyes locked on his, she nodded.
He captured her lips with his. A soft kiss. A tasting. His tongue slipped across her lips, capturing the errant chocolate. He moved back, their lips lingering just a second longer before separating. Then he licked his lips.
“Delicious,” he said, continuing to hold her gaze. As he inched closer to kiss her again, his phone’s ring tone broke the near silence of the cabin. “Dammit,” he swore, shoving his body off the floor and striding over to the counter to retrieve his phone.
He turned to look at her, the desire on his face replaced with concern as he answered. “What’s wrong, Bulldog?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We’re at the condo. It’s a mess. The doc needs to talk to her sister,” Janowski was saying to whoever was on the other line. His face very serious, his dark eyes said trust me.
Dylan did. Despite her concern for her sister and the state of the condo, Steve’s odd sudden protector personality took some of the edge off Dylan’s fear. Still, she wrapped her arms around her body to help stop some of the shaking, probably a combination from the adrenaline rushing through her body like the aftermath of a bad emergency surgery and the freezing cold weather.
Steve listened to the other man, nodded and handed her the phone.
“Chloe?” Dylan asked.
“It’s me Dylan,” her sister answered, her voice filling Dylan with reassurance. She slumped onto the edge of the sofa.
“What’s going on?” she asked, slipping into sister mode. “No one’s heard a word from you since yesterday and your condo…” she hesitated, staring at the violent chaos.
“What’s wrong with my condo?” Concern filled her sister’s question.
“Someone’s been here, Chlo. They…” she paused to look at Janowski. He nodded. “They tore it apart.”
“Tore what apart, Dyl?”
God, she hated telling her sister this, but she’d never shied away from the truth. “Everything, sis. They slashed the cushions of your furniture. Ransacked drawers. Broke things. Your living room has obscenities spray painted on the wall.”
“Oh, no.”
The pitiful sound coming from her strong sister broke Dylan’s heart.
“What else did they do?” A deep masculine voice asked.
“Who is this?” she asked, completely ignoring his question.
“It’s Wes Strong, Dylan,” Chloe said, and Dylan realized they’d put her on speaker phone. “One of Gage’s deputies.”
“You’re in Westen?” Anger shot through Dylan. “Why didn’t Bobby call and tell me? I know you two still think of me as the baby of the family, but dammit, I’m a fricking doctor. All grown up. I really wish you’d treat me like one.” She paused, cautiously watching the man across the room holding a gun as casual as if used to doing it daily. “Chloe, exactly what is going on and why did you send someone to babysit me?”
Janowski’s eyebrows shot up and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Dylan gave him her most pissed off look. If the man laughed she was going to pummel him, gun or no gun.
“He’s not a babysitter,” Wes said. “He’s a bodyguard.”
“And why, Mr. Strong, do I need a bodyguard?”
“Because your sister has a stalker.”
The brusque words hit her in the solar plexus, air whooshing out of her lungs. She sank onto the sofa, the world spinning around her. Her sister was in danger. Someone wanted to hurt her.
“Breathe, Doc,” Steven said, squatting down in front of her, his hand on her arm, slowly taking the phone from her. He hit the speaker button.
“Chief, she needs a minute.”
He leaned in closer. “Slow breath in, Doc. Slow breath out. Your sister is okay. She’s safe. The Chief isn’t going to let anyone hurt her. And I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
She gulped in air, then took his advice, forcing herself to calm down. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, clinging to her big sisters’ hands at her parents’ funeral and crawling into their beds when she was frightened. Just like Bobby had back then, she’d pull up her big girl panties and handle this.
“You okay?” Janowski asked her after a moment.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He returned her nod, then angled the phone between them. “Okay, Chief, like Doc said, this place was trashed. But it doesn’t look like anything valuable was taken. The computer, monitor, and flat screen are all here. All in one place.”
“So not a burglar?” Chloe asked.
“No. Ma’am,” Janowski answered. “It feels very personal based on the words spray painted in orange on the walls.”
“And your underwear and clothes are all over your bedroom,” Dylan added, finally able to look at the situation through a clinician’s eyes. “I know this is gross, but if you have a stalker, I’m thinking he touched everything in your lingerie drawer, sis.”
“Oh, gross,” Chloe groaned. “Can we just burn them all?”
“No,” Wes answered.
“Why not? It’s not like I’m ever going to touch them again.”
“Because they could have evidence on them.”
“What kind?”
“DNA.”
“Oh gross. That’s just…disgusting.”
Dylan grinned, imagining them arguing wherever they were. She looked at Janowski who winked at her with a little smirk on his face. She couldn’t help covering her mouth as a giggle threatened to escape.
“What do you want me to do, Chief?” Steve finally asked, hoping to get her sister and the deputy back on track.
“Can you and Dylan stay there for a little while? I’ll contact Bryerson, the same guy you called last night about the car. I’ll fill him in and see if he can get someone there to run forensics.”
“Doc and I are pretty dead on our feet. How long do you think it will take?”
“Don’t know, but he’ll probably put a rush on it since it’s me calling.”
Janowski held the phone to the side and looked at Dylan expectantly. He was waiting for her to make the decision. She hated being here longer than necessary, but she would do it if it would help catch her sister’s stalker. She nodded.
“Doc says she’s good to go,” Steven said into the phone.
She leaned forward, “But the doc isn’t the least bit happy her sisters kept her in the dark about this.”
“Bobby doesn’t know,” Chloe said.
“How does she not know if you’re there staying with…” She let the words trail off as realization hit her. “She doesn’t know you’re in town, because you’re not staying with her.”
“And I don’t want her to know until this mess is cleared up, little sister,” Chloe said, going all big sister on her. “I don’t want her worrying and jeopardizing her baby.”
“No, duh. Neither do I. But she’s going to be really pissed when she learns you kept not only the stalker thing from her, but that you were…there, wherever there is, with…one of her co-workers.” An idea hit her. “Gage doesn’t know either, does he?”
Silence on the other end.
This time she laughed. “Oh, you two are so dead when he finds out.”
And they would be. She knew one thing about her new brother-in-law, he loved her sister with his whole heart and that meant he thought of himself as her and Chloe’s big brother. If Bobby didn’t kill Wes for hiding her sister, Gage definitely would.
“Dylan, we have to go,” Chloe said. “Wes has to call that policeman to come to my place so you can go get some sleep.” A pause sounded on the other end of the phone and deep rumbling like Wes was whispering to her sister. “Uhm, Dyl, can you stay somewhere besides your place tonight? It might not be safe.”
Close To Danger (Westen Series Book 4) Page 16
