She nodded. "For a while."
For six days anyway. Until she knew for certain if she was pregnant. During that time, she could make plans. She could decide what to do.
Or, more specifically, she could decide what not to do.
One thing was for certain—it was too big a risk to return to Virginia. If the candle fire at her house was the work of the stalker, then he'd know where to find her. That meant she couldn't go back. And she couldn't stay in San Antonio, either. That would only further endanger Brayden and Colton.
That wasn't going to happen if she could stop it.
And she could stop it by leaving.
If she made arrangements for a new place, a new start, and just vanished, then maybe the stalker would crawl back under the same rock he'd been hiding under for the past two and a half years.
Brayden carried his son to the sofa and placed him amid the bedding and pillows that Ashley had arranged. When he took his sister aside to whisper something to her, Ashley walked closer to Colton.
"Will you be here for Christmas?" he asked.
"Maybe," she lied.
Christmas was definitely out since it was still twelve days away. Practically an eternity. By then, she'd have the pregnancy-test results and would have already picked out a spot where she could escape so she could either have the baby or wait for reinsemination.
Ashley sat down on the coffee table across from him. "But even if I'm not here, I'll make sure Santa visits. And don't worry because there's not a chimney. Your dad will let Santa in so he can leave the presents. Lots and lots of presents."
Colton's eyes brightened. "How many is lots and lots?"
"More than you can count." She paused, eyeing his dimpled grin. "Just how high can you count anyway?"
"To twenty, but maybe I can learn some bigger numbers before Christmas."
Ashley laughed and made a mental note to do some quick shopping on the Internet.
She glanced back at Brayden when he touched her arm. "Could we talk?"
"Sure." She brushed a kiss on Colton's forehead and followed Brayden down the hall.
"Are you okay?" he asked once they were inside one of the bedrooms.
Ashley leaned against the dresser and let it support her. "Not really, but under the circumstances, I'm doing about as well as I can manage."
Brayden walked closer, just a few quiet steps, and examined her eyes. "Have you managed yourself enough for a good ass chewing?"
Okay. So, she hadn't expected hugs and reassurances, but she hadn't expected that, either. "Do I have a reason to have such a chewing?"
"Absolutely. What you did in that yard was stupid." That earned her a gentle but authoritative poke in the chest with his index finger. "You should have never left cover to get me. Never. You could have been killed."
"Ditto."
He blinked. "Ditto?"
"D-i-t-t-o," Ashley spelled out. "Did you just expect me to stay hidden in the rosemary bushes and not try to help you? Especially since the only reason you were in danger in the first place was because you were helping me?"
"I'm a cop," Brayden said as if that explained everything, which it didn't.
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean bullets will bounce right off of your thick, impervious hide. And please don't turn this into a male-female, protector of the universe kind of argument because that would just seriously piss me off."
"No argument." She could see the pulse hammer in his neck. And his veins, practically bulging. "What you did was stupid, and I thought we'd already agreed you wouldn't do anything stupid."
She groaned. "Okay. This is an impasse, which normally wouldn't bother me, but if we don't get past this, I won't be able to get you into bed." She quickly lifted her finger to indicate a P.S. was on its way. "And by that, I mean get you to go to bed—alone. For sleeping purposes."
"The impasse stays an impasse until you realize you can't put yourself in danger."
"Then, an impasse it is. Because it was stupid for you to put yourself between those bullets and me. Brave, yes. But stupid, too."
"It wasn't brave," Brayden countered, rubbing his hand over his face. "Bravery is for people who have a choice about what to do. I didn't. I'm a cop. I reacted exactly how I've been trained to react. No choice involved."
Ashley gave him what she hoped was a blank look. "Is that BS meter in your head going nuts? Because mine sure is. I know for a fact SAPD doesn't train cops to jump out in front of bullets. Don't," Ashley cautioned when he opened his mouth, probably to continue his argument. "Just accept my thanks, toss in a lukewarm you're-welcome, and leave our impasse at that."
He nodded. Eventually. "You're welcome."
But he didn't leave it at that.
He reached out, slowly, as if he might change his mind at any moment. However, he didn't change his mind. He didn't stop. Brayden pulled her to him and took her in his arms. Not for carnal purposes. No romance involved. That strong, warm embrace was meant to comfort her, to reassure her, to promise that he would do everything possible to keep her safe.
It felt like heaven.
Worse, it felt right.
Against her better judgment, Ashley went with it. She stood there and took everything he was offering. Even though what he was offering had a huge price tag on it. Instead of the distance she'd hoped to keep between them, that embrace brought her closer to him. Not just physically, but in ways they should be avoiding.
"You should get some rest," she murmured, forcing herself to move away.
Brayden held on. Not a forceful hold, either. He simply didn't let go of her. "I need you to cooperate, to stay here," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Until I can make things safe."
Ashley didn't even consider telling him she planned to do the same thing—to make things safe. Not with that plea and exhaustion in his tone. Nor would she mention their concepts of what constituted safe might not be the same.
For now, she simply nodded.
He drew in a slow breath and released it just as slowly. Then he let go of her.
"One of the neighbors saw the car speeding away." Another deep breath, and Brayden sat on the edge of the bed. "It scraped against a fire hydrant when it clipped the curve. So now, we have paint shavings. We might get lucky and get a match."
What he wasn't saying was the car was probably a rental. Or stolen. The stalker almost certainly hadn't used his own vehicle for a drive-by shooting. Still, that wasn't necessarily a dead end. If they could trace those paint shavings, they might be able to get prints from the car. If they could find the car, that is.
So many if's.
"I put Miles Granville and Trevor Chapman under surveillance," he continued. "I should have done it sooner. If I had, that shooting might not have happened today."
Mercy. She hated to see him beat himself up like this. "Hindsight, huh? I've heard it's twenty-twenty. Too bad the rest of us mere mortals have to deal with plain old ordinary sight." Ashley reached over, turned out the lights and pointed to the bed. "Now, get some sleep."
"Not—"
"I need you to cooperate, to stay here," she said, repeating his earlier request verbatim. "Katelyn and I will take care of Colton. Everything will be all right."
The last part was more hope than assurance, and both of them knew it.
Nothing would be all right ever again.
Nothing.
Until the stalker was stopped.
* * *
A NIGHTMARE WOKE BRAYDEN. Or rather the nightmare. The one where he'd arrived on the scene just seconds after the bullets were fired. Seconds after Dana was hit. Seconds after she'd died.
Except this nightmare was different.
It wasn't just Dana on that sidewalk in a pool of blood, but Ashley, as well. He'd been seconds too late to save either of them, and because of that, they were both dead.
With his heart still pounding in his throat and his body braced for a long-lost fight, Brayden threw back the covers and got up. He checked the time—just pa
st midnight. And he listened for a moment. Assessing. Trying to decide if all was as it should be. It was.
Everything was quiet.
Except for the steady drum of his pulse in his head.
He pulled on his jeans and went down the hall to check on Colton. And Ashley. He found them both in Colton's temporary bedroom. Both asleep. Thanks to the cheery frog night-light, he could see his son snuggled under the covers, and Ashley was in the chair next to the bed. She'd slumped over, her head on the edge of Colton's pillow.
Colton was holding her hand.
Brayden hadn't expected such a simple thing to latch onto his heart. But, man, it did. Mainly because he knew it wasn't such a simple thing. Ashley was reaching out to his son, in more ways than one. In more ways than he'd ever imagined she would.
And maybe not just reaching out to Colton.
But to him, as well.
Soon, he'd have to sort out how he felt about that. But first he had to do whatever it took to keep them safe.
Not wanting to disturb them, Brayden stepped out of the room, but the movement must have alerted Ashley because she lifted her head from the pillow. Her gaze searched the room and landed on him.
She smiled. It was drowsy and ripe with sleep. She pushed herself out of the chair and practically stumbled toward him.
"Did you get some rest?" she murmured, sliding her hair away from her face. Her fingers slipped through the strands and came to rest on the back of her neck.
He nodded. "You?"
"Some. Colton was a little nervous about the strange room so he asked me to stay in here with him."
Something he should have been doing for his son. It should have felt wrong for Ashley to take his place. But it didn't.
God forbid, it didn't.
Her red silk pj's whispered against his arm when she stepped into the hall with him and partially shut the door. She smelled good. Not a man-made scent from a bottle or from a bar of soap. But her own unique scent. A smell that would always remind him of having sex with her.
Of course, a lot of things reminded him of that.
He'd never kissed her. An odd thought considering the sudden ache he had for her was below the belt and not above it. Except the ache seemed to be spreading. To his mouth. To his hands.
To his heart.
Brayden quickly pushed that last thought aside.
Dana's death had broken his heart, and he wasn't ready to risk that kind of pain again. Hell, he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready.
Except his body disagreed with that, too.
He suddenly felt ready—for a lot of things. Of course, that probably had something to do with the fact that Ashley was standing only inches from him, looking far better than he wanted her to look.
"Did you want something?" she asked.
An honest question, with no carnal undertones whatsoever, but Brayden couldn't help it. He made a tortured sound of amusement. Dark, ironic amusement.
"Oh," she said, flexing her eyebrows. She covered what would have almost certainly been a laugh with a soft cough.
"Oh," he confirmed.
"Would it help if I told you what you want is probably a deeply rooted primal instinct that you have no control over? Because you know I'm ovulating, your male body is gearing up to make certain you impregnate me and thereby insure the continuation of the human species."
"Well, that certainly takes the emotion out of it," Brayden lied.
"I didn't figure we were ready to deal with the emotion."
"True."
Neither of them was ready. Might never be. But that didn't stop him from wanting his hands on her. Her hands on him. It would have taken a much stronger man to turn away.
Brayden reached out and did what he'd almost certainly regret.
He pulled her to him.
And the battle started.
The air between them changed immediately. Sizzled. As if the atoms and molecules had switched to double time.
He thought of plenty of reasons why he shouldn't look down at her, why he should back away. The need for him to remain objective and focused. The need to keep his distance. Their past. Their uncertain future.
They were all good solid reasons.
And yet none of them stopped him.
She looked up at him. But not with any ordinary look. The look. Her eyes were crying out with need for comfort. And more. Much more.
Her breath was already thin and fast, and it was getting faster. He saw the pulse hammer in her delicate throat. He felt her heart pound against his. And the air just kept on sizzling.
Brayden stared down at her. Somewhere amid that long, smoldering look, he got lost in the depths of her blue eyes. And her scent. Man, that scent. All woman. It spoke to him in ways nothing else could have.
Her touch didn't help things, either. She slid her fingers along his biceps. A sensual, slow caress. That wasn't all. Moving even closer, she brushed her hip against the front of his jeans. Yep. There it was. The metaphorical striking match. It fired his blood. But even then, he could have stopped.
Probably.
But he didn't. He waited, bracing himself.
He didn't brace himself nearly enough.
His mouth came to hers. Her lips pressed against his, taking. Not a soft gentle kiss of comfort. Not this. There was no comfort in the sensual moves of her mouth. This was all white-hot heat, fueled with lethal adrenaline and raw emotion.
The waiting was over. The battle, lost. But a new one began.
The sensations slammed through him. Fast. Hard. Strong. Resisting wasn't possible. So he took everything she offered. Everything. And upped the stakes.
Brayden latched onto her hair with one hand, the back of her neck with the other, and hauled her to him. Against him. Until he could feel every silky soft inch of her.
It still wasn't enough.
Not nearly enough.
Not with the ache inside him.
He savored the feel of her lips against his. Soft. Like warm silk. She responded and moved with him. He tested the taste of her, touching his tongue to hers. Like her scent, it went straight through him. Like fire. Like something he desperately needed.
Because he felt as if he might drown in that need, Brayden put a choke hold on his body and eased back slightly.
"Was that part of those primal instincts?" Ashley whispered against his mouth.
"It was a mistake."
She shook her head. The movement brushed her lips against his. Her hair slid over his cheek. "It didn't feel like a mistake."
"I know. That's why it was one."
Because he was standing so close to her, he felt her stiffen slightly. Ashley backed up a step. But Brayden quickly recaptured that ground.
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and hauled her to him. He recaptured her mouth, as well. Not to taste, experience or touch. But to take. To feast.
Ashley did her own share of feasting. She made a sound of pure pleasure and wound her arms around his neck. Their bodies came together. Silk and woman against his bare chest.
"Mercy." She pulled back slightly and touched her fingers to her lips. "I didn't think you'd be this good."
He groaned. "That's not the right thing to say. I don't need anything to encourage me."
"I know." She gulped in a breath and repeated it. "But let's think this through. If the other kiss was a mistake, then that one was a whopper. I'm talking huge."
"Agreed."
"And if we keep kissing, then I'll want to do something about this." Without taking her gaze from his, Ashley slid her hand over the front of his jeans and had him seeing double. "Because I have some primal instincts stirring in me, as well. And that surprises me. Because I haven't felt these specific stirrings in a long, long time."
Maybe it was because she was so honest, or maybe because she didn't move her hand even after she had proven her point. Either way, Brayden considered carrying her to his bed. Or maybe on the floor, taking her in some hard, fast, frantic coupling that wo
uld make them both come in a flash of pure heat.
He considered it.
And dismissed it.
Not easily, but he dismissed it.
Partly because his son was in the other room and might wake up. Also, because Ashley wasn't his for the taking. And his heart wasn't his for the giving.
She searched his eyes, paused, nodded. Understanding. "Good night, Brayden," she whispered.
And before he could change his mind, or do whatever it took to change hers, Ashley went into her bedroom and closed the door.
Chapter Twelve
With his brother, Garrett, standing by his side, Brayden watched the video feed as a detective questioned Trevor Chapman.
"This guy's on your shortlist of stalker suspects?" Garrett asked. The question was loaded with doubts. "He's like Forrest Gump in an expensive Italian suit."
Brayden had his own doubts, as well, and Trevor's demeanor wasn't doing a lot to dispel them. Chapman sat soldier-stiff in the chair, his hands in his lap. His double-breasted conservative suit was immaculate, pricey even, but far from fashionable. There was concern in his eyes. Sweat popping out on his forehead. He stuttered. Often. And he was respectful to the detective, calling him sir at the end of every response.
Not exactly the deportment of a gunman who'd tried to kill Ashley and him in broad daylight. That had a been a gutsy attack, and the guy sweating in the interview didn't appear to be gutsy material.
Trevor was carefully answering the detective's questions. Not vague answers, either. When the detective had asked him where he was the day before, specifically at the time of the shooting, Trevor had given a detailed account of the deal he'd been working on for his family's import business.
Maybe too detailed, Brayden wondered?
He wasn't about to discount the man just yet. Because, simply put, Trevor had no alibi for the time of Dana's shooting. But then, neither did Miles Granville, another name on Brayden's list. Granville should be arriving any minute for his own voluntary interview. Within an hour, Brayden might have the information necessary to stop the stalker.
Or not.
Because Trevor and Granville were on that list all right. But neither had top billing. Hyatt Chapman was firmly inked into that spot.
Santa Assignment Page 10
