by Dee Davis
Dead.
They were all dead.
“No.” Payton threw back his head, his scream filling the courtyard. He screamed for Kevin, for Mariam and now for Samantha.
But it was too late.
He couldn’t save them. No matter how much he loved them, it was too late. Everyone he loved died. He screamed again, heedless of the renewed gunfire. He wanted to die, wanted the bullets to tear him apart. Maybe in death he’d at last find peace.
“Payton.” The sound of Sam’s voice broke through the nightmare like a lantern, the cool light banishing his tortured memories to the dark recesses of his mind. He pulled against the power that held him, struggling to wake up, to release himself from his self-imposed hell.
“Go,” Kevin cried.
“Don’t leave me,” Mariam begged.
“Wake up.” Sam was shaking him now, and the voices faded away as he surfaced to reality, sweat drenching his body.
He sat up, running his hands through his hair, torn between remnants of his fear, and mortification that he’d had the dream—tonight of all nights.
“Let it go, Payton. Let it go.” Sam’s arms encircled him, her breasts pressed against his back, he could feel each breath, testament that she was uninjured and alive. “It’s over.”
He shook his head. “It’ll never be over.”
“Yes, it will. But you have to let it go.” She laid her cheek against the scarred skin of his back, her touch both comforting and arousing. “You have to give yourself permission to go on. I can’t believe that Kevin and Mariam would have wanted it any other way.”
He pulled away, turning to face her, anger threatening to override other emotion. “How did you find out about Mariam?”
“Gabe told me,” she said quietly, her look unapologetic. “He thought I had a right to know.”
“He shouldn’t have said anything,” Payton snapped, then bit back the rest of his retort, his anger dissipating almost as quickly as it had formed. “It wasn’t his place.”
“No,” she said, her eyes still steady and clear. “It was yours. You should have been the one to tell me. But you wouldn’t have, would you?”
“Probably not.” Her face tightened as she tried to control the hurt, and he cursed his lack of sensitivity, looking for some way to soften what he’d said. “I don’t talk about it much to anyone.”
“Especially a one-night stand.” The words were mumbled, but he heard them just the same.
“You mean a hell of a lot more to me than that, and you know it.” The anger was back, but this time because she doubted him. Doubted them. He hadn’t really admitted to himself how he felt until now. Wasn’t sure what the hell it meant even at that. But it was real, and he wouldn’t let her belittle it.
“Then don’t be afraid to share it all with me, Payton. The good stuff and the bad,” she dared him, her anger rising to match his. “I don’t need to be protected.”
“I wasn’t protecting you,” he said. “I was protecting me.”
“From what?”
“I don’t know. Rejection. Or maybe condemnation for what I’ve done.” Fear clutched at his chest as if it had flesh-and-blood fingers, and he closed his eyes, willing away his vulnerability.
“You didn’t kill them, Payton.” She reached up to stroke his face, her fingers tracing the pattern of his scar, the gesture oddly intimate. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t.” His eyes flickered open, his gaze battling with hers. “They trusted me. I was supposed to take care of them.”
“Loving someone doesn’t mean you can keep them safe, Payton. It’s a nice idea in theory, but in actuality it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I mean, you weren’t even there when Mariam died. And from what Gabe told me you did everything you could to save Kevin.”
“It wasn’t enough.” His brother’s face flashed in his mind again, and he clenched his fists, his heart twisting in agony. “It wasn’t fucking enough.”
“Oh, God, Payton. I wish I could take away the pain. Make you see that there wasn’t anything more you could have done. But I don’t have that kind of power. All I can do is hold you, and let you know that I’m here, and that I care. And that you don’t have to protect yourself from me.” She met his gaze unflinchingly. There was no cynicism, no pity, only compassion—and something more, something that he scarcely dared to put a name to. “Let me be your safe place, Payton.”
With a groan, he pulled her to him, his kiss restrained, a renewal of sorts, as if she alone had the power to sustain him. And maybe she did. He marveled at the fact that she had come to him, knowing about his past. Had witnessed his nightmares, not once but twice, and hadn’t turned away in disgust.
Instead she offered herself, freely, without asking for anything in return. It humbled him. And excited him. And created feelings he wasn’t even sure he understood. But he knew one thing: he needed her. And he’d be a fool to turn away from so precious a gift.
He pulled her back into the soft comfort of the bed, determined to show her with his mouth and hands and body all the things he couldn’t find voice to say. And she answered him in kind, the two of them delighting in the discovery of each other, tasting and exploring, kissing and teasing, his body responding to hers as the fears and anxiety of his nightmares were pushed aside in the wake of their rising passion.
He braced himself above her, marveling at the beauty of her smile, the hazy blue of her eyes, the dusting of freckles across her nose. This was a woman a man could lose himself in. And at the moment, that’s all he wanted. Refuge in the storm. A place where the demons couldn’t find him.
With a single thrust he was inside her, his body establishing a rhythm. She arched against him, taking him deeper, her body rising to meet his in a dance to music only they could hear, the melody building in tempo and complexity until there was nothing but the two of them.
He closed his eyes and let himself go, surrendering to the moment. Together they moved, two souls joined together in a sensual spiral of passion. And together they found release, the world breaking apart in a frenzy of sensation, the climax beyond anything he’d ever believed possible.
And in that moment of ecstasy, he held on to the fact that it was his name she called. His body she clung to, his soul she held in her hands. And there in the soft beauty of her smile, he found sanctuary, and rejoiced in the fact that, at least for the moment, together they held the darkness at bay.
SAM LAY COMPLETELY STILL, content for the moment to simply feel the rhythm of Payton’s breathing. The sun was only a hint of color at the window, and she was loath to break the spell. Whatever it was that had passed between them in the night, she was afraid it would fade with daylight, and her heart wasn’t certain she could take the loss.
So she held on to the moment, letting the pink rays of the sunrise deepen, casting their warming rays across the sheets. So many things had passed between them last night. Her body was testament to the physical aspects, and her heart was heavy with the emotional part.
Payton was every bit as complex as she’d imagined. And every bit as compelling. The ghosts that haunted him wouldn’t easily let him go. Even if they agreed, she wasn’t sure that he’d let them go. All of which made a relationship tricky at best.
She sighed, and allowed herself a moment to simply hold him. To feel his chest rise and fall, his breath on her face, his hand thrown possessively across her chest. Their bodies fit together like two halves of a whole. She laughed at the cliché, even as she recognized its truth.
Opposites might attract, but kindred spirits welded together in a way that made it hard to separate. But separating was exactly what she had to do. There was business at hand, a job to do. And nothing, not even the magic of last night, could be allowed to get in her way.
Carefully extracting herself from beneath his arm, she slid out from beneath the covers, immediately regretting the loss of his warmth. Despite the Texas heat, the hotel room felt cold and suddenly empty.
She shivered and gathered her clothes, then walked into the living room, slipping into them with less grace than she’d removed them, her mind lingering on the memory of his hands against her body, his lips against…
She shook her head, pulling her thoughts to the present. She’d deal with the fallout later. At least for the moment they were together. There was some comfort in the thought. Sam bent to retrieve her shirt, sliding it over her head.
She wasn’t going to let her emotions get the better of her. It wouldn’t help anything. What she needed was to focus on the case. On finding the bomber.
“Where’re you going?” Payton stood in the doorway, stark naked, his eyes narrowed in concern.
“I’ve got work to do.” Despite the reality of the statement, it sounded lame. And she turned to face him, her lip caught between her teeth.
His frown was flattering, and sexy, his anger somehow more palatable when it concerned her leaving. “It’s early. I don’t think Cullen expects you to punch a time clock.”
He looked so damn at ease that it made her angry. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a bomber on the loose, and I don’t think his next victim will appreciate it if I spend my day in bed with you instead of trying to figure out who the hell he is.”
The frown deepened. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
She wondered where the easy camaraderie of the night before had gone, but knew the answer. She’d created the awkwardness, her fear creating chasms where there had been none. Story of her life.
“I’m not mad. I’m just concerned about doing my job. Look, last night was wonderful. I—we needed the escape. But it’s morning now, and reality demands that I concentrate on the reason I’m here.”
“Last night was more than wonderful.” He crossed the room in two strides, his fingers lifting her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.
“I know.” Tears threatened, and she silently cursed. “But it wasn’t real.”
“You can’t be sure of that.” His eyes were dark with emotion, and she wished she could believe the things she saw there.
“And you can’t tell me for certain that I’m wrong.” She waited, knowing that he wouldn’t disagree.
“No, I can’t.” His gaze still held hers. “But I’m not willing to give it up without at least trying.” He made it sound so easy. Like climbing a tree or deciding what to have for breakfast.
“I don’t want to get hurt.”
“The only way you find the things in life that matter, Sam, is by risking hurt.” This from the man who couldn’t let go of his dead brother and wife. But then maybe that was the point. Maybe Payton had risked and lost, and in doing so won the prize that mattered most of all.
She reached up to touch his face, loving the fact that it felt so familiar. “I’m not going anywhere. At least not metaphorically.” This time her smile was self-mocking. “But I am going to my room. I need a shower, and I need to get to the lab. This guy is gaining on us, and I don’t like the idea of his winning even an inch.”
“When you put it that way…” Payton’s grin was still intimate, and he bent to brush a kiss against her lips, the simple act stealing her breath away. God, she had it bad. She smiled up at him, feeling all of about fifteen, then squared her shoulders and turned her back, walking into the bedroom, heading for the connecting door between their rooms.
“Wait.”
She turned, the protest dying on her lips when she saw the expression on his face.
“You haven’t been in your room since we got home last night.” The statement seemed innocuous, but she followed his train of thought immediately.
“You think the bomber left me another present?”
He shrugged, walking toward the door.
“Hang on,” she said, her voice louder than she’d intended.
He turned, his eyebrows raised in question.
“You can’t go in there like that.” She allowed herself the luxury of perusing his naked body, the memory of last night sending heat rising to her cheeks.
His mouth quirked with laughter. “I hardly think a pair of Levi’s is going to be protection against a bomb. But I’ll humor you.” His gaze collided with hers. “Don’t move.”
Usually when someone issued an ultimatum, she was inclined to ignore it, but nevertheless she waited until he’d pulled on his jeans and come back to the door.
“I’ll go first,” she said, her eyes already scanning the frame for signs of wiring or tampering. “If he has done something, I’d lay odds it doesn’t involve this door. Access is too difficult. Besides, he used a door last time, and this guy doesn’t seem to be one for repeat performances.”
Payton flanked her, his eyes also following the line of the frame. “So you’ve accepted the idea that the confetti bomb could be the work of the same guy.”
“Having seen more of his work, I’ve got to admit the possibility. But until I’ve got definitive proof, I’m not going to speculate.”
He smiled. “No speculating I can accept. As long as you treat it seriously.”
She turned to him, her face impassive. “I’m always serious when it comes to bombs and the people that produce them. That’s how I’ve lasted as long as I have in this business.”
“You mean people would have run you off?”
“No.” She shook her head, “I’d be dead.”
She reached for the knob, and turned it, holding her breath. Nothing happened. “I think we’re okay.”
“You think?” Payton repeated.
She allowed herself a smile, watching as he reached for the light switch. Then some instinct sang out in warning, and she dove for him, the two of them hitting the floor just as a whoosh filled the air, followed by a pop as the lightbulb shorted out and an object on the far side of the room exploded.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Payton’s voice was muffled, and Sam shifted slightly so that she could see, her body still covering his.
“Something over there blew.” She tipped her head toward the table across the room, smoke still emanating from the center. “My guess is it was triggered by the light switch.”
“That would explain the lamp,” he said, nodding toward the floor lamp next to the table, its shade warped and in places completely disintegrated, the broken stub of the lightbulb the only thing remaining in the socket. He started to roll out from under her, but she held her hand up to stop him.
“Don’t move yet. There could be a secondary device.” She was already visually searching the room, trying to locate anything that looked unusual. The wall plate of the light switch was singed, and there were pieces of metal scattered around the floor near the table along with something white lying halfway between the table and the connecting door.
She could see from here that the lock was in place on the front door, the curtains drawn and the bedroom door closed. She didn’t remember leaving the door closed, but then she obviously hadn’t been the last one in the room.
“I think it’s clear.” Payton, too, had been scanning the room.
She nodded, studying the remains of the bomb, then returned her gaze to his, suddenly aware of their proximity. She’d hit him with full force, ending up straddling him on the floor. “You all right?”
“It was a hell of a tackle.” His mouth twitched once at the corner, then he sobered. “But overall, I’m fine. Thanks to you.” He reached up to trace the line on her cheek, the contact sending shivers of fire racing through her. Last night, it seemed, had been only a prelude. She still wanted more.
“Nothing to thank me for.” She forced herself to ignore his touch. It was important to stay focused on the task at hand—the bomber’s message. And impossible to do so lying on top of Payton.
She rolled off him, moving slowly to a sitting position, scanning the room for any reaction to her movement. Everything was still.
Payton followed suit, leaning back against the wall, his gaze still raking across the room. “Seems stable.”
&nb
sp; “Yeah. I think we’re good to go. Although I’d prefer to leave the bedroom door closed until the technical team arrives.”
“You think he was trying to hurt you?” Anger sparked in his eyes, his tone possessive.
“No.” She shook her head, ignoring the sparks still flying between them. “I don’t think it was meant to hurt anyone. The debris is limited to the area around the table. Which means that whichever door I’d entered from, the odds were I’d be too far away to be in any real danger.”
“What if you’d gone directly for the lamp?” He asked, pushing to his feet and offering her a hand.
“That’s why the drapes are pulled and the bedroom door closed,” she said, allowing him to pull her up. “He wanted to force me to use the light switch.”
“Smart man.” Payton’s expression had turned grim, and he walked toward the lamp.
Sam followed in his wake, stopping at the edge of the table. The seat of the explosion was an eight-inch rectangle scorched permanently into what remained of the table. It had split in two, but because of its position against the wall, it hadn’t fallen. Secondary scorch marks ran in streaks radiating from the rectangular burn like a sunburst. One on the left side of the table seemed particularly long, and Sam wondered if it had been made by a fuse.
She turned to face the room, trying to envision the explosion, marking the distances pieces of shrapnel had traveled. Nothing had gone more than about four feet from the table, which meant a controlled blast.
She’d been right. There’d been no intention to harm. Just a message.
But what the hell was it?
She bent to the carpet, brushing her fingers against something red and sticky. Lifting her finger to her nose, she sniffed cautiously.
“Paint?” Payton asked, coming up behind her.
Startled, she started to spin around, then checked herself, wondering if she’d ever get used to the way he moved. “Looks like it. I’m thinking the bomb’s container was painted, and the heat of the explosion melted the paint.” She reached down to pick up a twisted fragment, the metal still warm to the touch. “See?” she offered, holding it out. “It’s still got streaks on it.”
