Texas Takedown

by Barb Han

  With the dark circles cradling Dylan’s eyes, that was most likely all he could think about, too. Talking about how desperate the situation felt wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t help matters. In fact, he needed a distraction.

  “How far is your place?”

  “About thirty minutes or so from here,” he said.

  He knew this area like the back of his hand, so she would rely on his skills to get them there safely.

  The half-hour hike wasn’t bad even through burning thighs. Dylan’s silence was far more unnerving. Having grown up with three brothers, she knew that a quiet man was not a good sign.

  It was black as pitch outside with no sign of light.

  She listened for the sound of Dylan’s footsteps and stopped a little too late, running into his back.

  His hand found hers for the rest of the walk.

  She couldn’t have seen a tree if it was right in front of her face. His phone light appeared every once in a while, guiding them through the night.

  They pushed through trees and brush, eventually making their way to the edge of a clearing. This had to be his place. An outside light was on over his carport and there were two others lighting the front of the small ranch-style house.

  “We’ll slip in through the back,” he said. “Keep the lights off so we don’t give anything away.”

  Samantha kept close even though he’d released her hand. She missed his warmth as soon as they disconnected.

  They crept in through the back door.

  The outdoor light permeated the large windows in the living room. With open blinds, she could see well enough not to walk into furniture. A few children’s books along with several toys were on the sofa. Most everything else had a place and the room was in order, reminding her that Dylan was ex-military.

  The place was full of simple, comfortable-looking furniture. A few framed snapshots of Dylan and Maribel had been placed on the fireplace mantel. Others were on side tables.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Shower’s down the hall. There’s a night-light always on in there and that should provide enough light for you to see. Fresh linens are in the closet. You need something to wear?”

  She didn’t want to ask why he would have women’s clothes available, but the idea of a shower was too good to pass up. “I could stand to clean up. Fresh clothes would be nice.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll put something on the counter.” He paused a beat. “I’m sorry about earlier. I got heated and I shouldn’t have—”

  “You don’t have to apologize. Under the circumstances, I thought you were pretty restrained, actually.” She knew Dylan well enough to realize he wouldn’t hurt her no matter how angry he was. Just like in high school, he needed space to think. The long drive home had most likely been what he’d needed to get his bearings again after the devastating news about Maribel.

  “There’s where you’re wrong. I do have to say I’m sorry. I’m trying to be a better man since becoming a father.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Dylan. But I know you. You always were a good person even when you got in trouble before. I never doubted you for a second.” She walked straight up to him, pressed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  He stood there for a second looking dumbfounded.

  “Don’t look so surprised. It’s not as if I haven’t known you since we were eleven years old.” With that, Samantha walked out of the room, down the hall and into the bathroom.

  She slipped out of her road-weary clothes and into the warm water.

  Looking around at the couple of rubber toys and the princess bubble-bath bottle, Samantha figured this had to be Maribel’s bathroom. Icy tendrils closed and squeezed around Samantha’s heart, and her knees buckled. She caught herself with a hand on the wall and then said a silent prayer that Maribel would return home safely, just as Shane had. Any other outcome was unthinkable.

  The shower rejuvenated her stiff muscles. She toweled off and picked up the clothes on the sink, a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Definitely not women’s wear. Why did that fact spread a glimmer of light into her heavy heart?

  She put on the clothes, cinching the waist of the boxer shorts with a butterfly hair clip she found in the drawer.

  No matter what else happened, Samantha was determined to help get Maribel back.

  By the time she emerged from the bathroom, smells from the other room said there was food working in the kitchen. Her stomach growled in spite of the fact she couldn’t imagine eating under the circumstances. It was impossible to think about doing anything normal while Dylan’s daughter was missing.

  Samantha made her way into the kitchen.

  Dylan turned as she stepped into the room, stopped and stared. Moonlight streamed in from the window, casting dark shadows across his face.

  “What?” She glanced down at her outfit self-consciously.

  “Feel better?” His voice was low, gravelly.

  “Much. Why? Do I look okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Sit down.” He pointed toward the eat-in dining table and chairs.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Eat anyway.”

  Giving short answers was another bad sign. Maybe she could get him to open up and talk a little bit. It had always helped when her brothers were angry.

  One look at Dylan, at his almost savage expression, told her he’d tear apart an animal with his bare hands if it meant getting his daughter back.

  “What is she like? Maribel?”

  “A ball of energy. More like a three-feet-tall tornado.” A brief smile crossed his lips before he seemed to catch himself. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Okay. She’d have to try a different tack. “Have you given any thought to our next move?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

  “Okay.” She did. So much for getting him to open up.

  He walked over and set down a bowl of food and a fork in front of her.

  “You know how to cook pasta?”

  “It’s Maribel’s favorite. I learned.” He picked up Samantha’s arm and held it out. “You’re losing weight.”

  That much was true, so she didn’t argue.

  “And you could barely hang on to me during the ride. I was afraid you’d fall off half the time.”

  She was almost surprised he’d noticed. Her grip around his broad chest had broken a time or two, but she’d quickly recovered. “Yes.”

  “So make the food in that bowl disappear,” came out on a grunt.

  She doubted the old Dylan would’ve noticed any of those things. He’d been all bad boy and, in a word, self-absorbed. But then, he’d had a lot of reasons to be. Life hadn’t been easy or kind. The new Dylan, the one with a softer side, tugged at her heart even more. He’d always been handsome in that rugged, edgy, not-sure-what-to-expect way. And he’d always been unbreakable. Seeing this side to him—his Achilles’ heel being his little angel—speared Samantha through the chest.

  Since the reformed Dylan seemed determined to stand over her until she got a few bites down, she did so for the sake of show. The food tasted as good as it smelled, so she managed a few more. And she didn’t want to like the small smile he conceded at the corners of his mouth that didn’t reach his eyes—eyes that were tormented and angry.

  That he seemed genuinely concerned about her well-being made her unable to disappoint him. He’d been a good friend so far. He’d put himself on the line to help her and she’d treated him like the enemy early on.

  “Since we’re throwing out apologies and all, I’m not sure if I thanked you earlier,” she said, then forced down another bite.

  “That’s not an apology.”

&
nbsp; “Thank you anyway,” she quipped.

  He turned and walked to the counter near the sink, leaned his slender hip against the cabinet and scooped pasta into a second bowl. He stabbed the fork inside and then chewed the first bite. “If you’re going to be strong enough to fight back, you need to eat.”

  She blinked up at him. Right again. And even though she absolutely knew that he had to be dying inside, he was just this tower of strength on the outside. His eyes gave away his pain, and she figured he was allowing her to see it. If he wanted to, he could go blank so as not to give away his advantage.

  “For the record, I don’t want to eat, either,” he said, anger rolling off him in palpable waves, heating the room as he forced the fork into his dish again.

  Dylan was right. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal in the past week or had a decent night of sleep. As it was, her left hand could scarcely hold the fork, let alone fight off an attacker. As much as she didn’t want to eat or go to bed, a full belly would make her stronger and her head needed to hit that pillow soon.

  He rinsed out his bowl and placed it in the dishwasher before returning to her side. She could feel him, even if she closed her eyes, standing next to her because Dylan was just this massive presence, a noticeable energy.

  “What’s the plan?” She couldn’t suppress a yawn.

  “Bed.” He peered down at her bowl, removed the fork from her hand and swooped up the dish.

  “There must be something else I can do to help.”

  He’d already turned his back to her. He didn’t turn around. “Sleep.”

  “What will you do?”

  “The same. I’ll be no good to my daughter without grabbing a few hours of shut-eye. You need more than that.” He started moving toward the sink again.

  She wanted to protest, to argue that she was just as strong as he was, but it would have been pointless. And although she had every intention of pulling her own weight, she couldn’t debate her need for sleep.

  How on earth she’d get it, she had no idea. Being alone with Dylan was already doing all kinds of crazy things to her pulse. Adrenaline from the day had long dissipated and she was left with a beating heart in an exhausted body.

  “Go brush your teeth. There’s an extra toothbrush in the cabinet.”

  Under normal circumstances, she’d have been offended by the fact he’d resorted to using as few words as possible with her again. Except he was too much like her older brother Brent in that way. Brent would become laser focused and the little pleasantries went out the window. He’d said he didn’t have time to fill his brain with nonsense when there was a serious task at hand. How many times had Brent come to the rescue in those early years after losing their mother? Too many.

  She understood that, on some level, this was Dylan’s way of coping.

  And she couldn’t find fault in that.

  Before she could develop an argument for staying up, Dylan was at her side, urging her to stand.

  “Lean on me,” he said gruffly.

  She didn’t realize she needed him until she tried to stand on her own. Her knees buckled and his strong arm around her waist kept her from falling flat on her back.

  Tired didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

  Brushing her teeth was the last thing she remembered doing.

  * * *

  THE HOUSE WAS still as Samantha’s eyes flew open. She blinked a few times to gain her bearings. She was on the pullout sofa in a spare bedroom. He’d insisted she take his bed, but it hadn’t seemed right to take that away from him. He needed sleep as much as she did, and he had a much better chance of getting it under the sheets he was used to. Besides, she barely even remembered closing her eyes before she was out.

  What time was it?

  She glanced around for a clock, got up and found one on a side table. Two o’clock in the morning. She’d gotten at least four hours of rest. That was more sleep than she’d had in the past week in its entirety. She’d take whatever she could get at this point. It was the little wins that mattered most right now. Celebrate all the little wins, her big brother would’ve told her, and that will keep you going even through the toughest of times.

  It also sounded like something Dylan would say. And that was pretty much where his similarities with her older brother ended. The two were nothing alike physically. Brent was barely five feet ten inches. He had their father’s small frame and their mother’s brains. Thinking back, she remembered that her mother had been very bright. She’d also been artistic and had always checked the light in a room to decide where she would paint. She’d never asked for much. She’d carve out a niche in the brightest room she could find and keep a small cabinet with her art supplies there. While her mother might not have taken up much room in life, she’d occupied so much of Samantha’s heart. Losing her had been a crushing blow.

  She stuffed the thought down deep as she eased down the hallway toward Dylan’s room. She’d have to pass his daughter’s room to get there, and a coil tightened in her belly with each forward step.

  The door decorated with the name Maribel was open, waiting.

  As Samantha passed by, something dark and big caught her attention. Her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but she could see clearly enough to realize it was Dylan.

  There he was, this big hulk of a man who had fallen asleep sitting on the floor of his daughter’s room, leaning against the wall, holding on to a stuffed rabbit that was no doubt his daughter’s favorite.

  His head was slouched forward; he almost looked as if he was crying or praying. If she left him there like that, his neck would hurt in the morning. The least she could do was help him into a more comfortable position.

  Samantha tiptoed inside and tried to ease the furry animal out of his hands.

  In the next second, she was splayed out on her back and he was spread over top of her with a sharp object to her throat, his weight pressing her into the bamboo floor.

  She’d scarcely seen the glimmer of metal before it was against her bare skin.

  “Stop. It’s me.” She stared into dead eyes, a permanent sneer fixed on his face. Then it occurred to her. He was still asleep. One wrong move and he’d slit her throat before he woke. She kept her body very still. “Dylan. It’s Samantha. Wake up. Please.”

  He snapped his head from side to side and then focused on her. “Dammit. That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

  He shifted his weight onto his right side and his groin pressed against her naked thigh. A volt of electricity trilled through her. She didn’t want to feel that certain pull between them that made her remember that he smelled spicy and warm and windswept, and yet she couldn’t deny its presence.

  The anger and adrenaline coursed through her, igniting the sexual chemistry between them into passion and fire. He dipped his head and stopped when his lips barely touched hers.

  Was he waiting for a sign that she wanted this to happen, too?

  The knife hit the floor and she could hear it being pushed away, sliding across the bamboo.

  “Samantha?” When he spoke, his lips brushed against hers and she could feel his breath, still minty from toothpaste.

  “Yes” was all she could manage with him this close, with his body flush with hers and the material of his cargo pants against her thighs. That strong chest she’d been holding on to earlier moved up and down faster now, matching the rapid pace of her pulse.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about that kiss yesterday.”

  A dozen thoughts rushed her mind. She’d been thinking about it, too. More than she knew was good for her. She didn’t want to like Dylan as more than a friend. Not now. Maybe never. This was all too complicated.

  His soft lips pressed down on hers. Her hands came up and circled around his neck. He tasted so good.

  He was propped
up on one elbow and his free hand started roaming as he deepened the kiss. He was touching, feeling, connecting, and all she could think was more.

  And then it dawned on her.

  He was searching for comfort. It could have been any woman underneath him right then. The two of them were friends. Period.

  She broke the kiss and slid out from underneath him. He didn’t immediately move, as though he needed a few seconds to process her actions.

  “I was out of line there.”

  “No. I wanted it to happen, too. But that’s not good for either one of us.” She started to say right now but stopped herself. The truth was there might never be a right time for the two of them, and she had no intention of confusing a friendship for something else again.

  “You’re right.” Those two words stung. Had she been hoping he’d argue?

  “Won’t happen again.” He pushed up onto his knees, then stood. “You want a glass of water?”

  She shook her head, embarrassed. She’d let things between them go too far, and now it would be awkward. Dylan wasn’t reaching out to her because he liked her; it was because of the tension he was under. He needed a release. Sex with Dylan would blow her mind, she was sure. But then what?

  It would get weird between them, just as it had in college when she’d been a shoulder to cry on for the crush she picked up during Freshman Lit. Jude Evers had been busy working his way through college, a single dad with two young kids. He’d caught his fiancée in bed with his best friend. He and Samantha had bonded over the really crappy espressos at the student union that were like mud in a cup. The two had become friends, then lovers, and she’d put her heart on the line with him. Hadn’t that turned out to be a mistake? She’d babysat his kids so he could go to the student union to study, or so she’d thought. Boredom had gotten the best of her after she’d put his kids to bed, so she’d logged on to social media.

  There he was, caught on camera kissing another girl from class, no less. He was shirtless, and the reason why was pretty obvious. They’d just made love.