Enigma

by Dee Davis

  Tomorrow she’d hit the lab, and hopefully she’d find the Tai Chi on one of the fragments from his latest handiwork. And there was still the car bomb to go through. Not to mention the two from her room. The ATF lab in Georgia was looking at debris as well, maybe they’d find something she’d missed.

  She sighed and propped her feet up on the windowsill, staring out at the stars. Like everything else here, they seemed brighter. God, what she wouldn’t give for some answers. She’d come so close to losing her mother. Too close. For a moment, she’d actually understood Payton’s pain. Someone she loved had almost died, and no matter how badly she wanted to pretend otherwise, it would have been partially her fault. Either because of something she’d missed, or because the bomber had targeted her, and therefore her mother.

  For the first time in her life, she found herself questioning her choice of career. Up until now the only chances she’d ever taken had been with her own life, and that was something she could live with. But now, conceivably, people she cared about had been targeted. Walter, her mother and, indirectly even Elliot.

  And even if it wasn’t personal, even if it was only about the fact that she was heading the investigation, it still had cost lives. She shook her head, trying to erase the notion, there were a million other reasons why Walter Atherton could have been targeted. He’d been investigating the bombings, too. His position with the FBI was certainly more prestigious than hers with the ATF.

  It was only her experience with explosives, and Cullen Pulaski’s clout that gave her seniority on the case. But when you added in the attempt to kill her mother, her friendship with Walter was suddenly suspect. She blew out a breath, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to clear her thoughts.

  The problem with the whole scenario was that she didn’t know the senators, and she had nothing whatsoever to do with their scheme to bring agricultural money to their states.

  It was a conundrum of the highest order, but like every puzzle there was a solution, she just needed to find more pieces, and in the meantime, make certain her mother was safe. There was logic in her going to Oklahoma. Sam certainly wasn’t going to be available to watch over her. But at the same time, she hated the idea of her mother being out of sight. As if by having her physically present, she could keep her safe.

  The notion wasn’t a practical one, and Sam was pragmatic enough to recognize the fact. Gabe would see her safely to Oklahoma, and she had no doubt that Cullen would take care of the rest. Besides, Uncle George wasn’t the kind to sit on his ass and wait for something to happen. He’d make sure Elizabeth was safe.

  She’d have better protection than a head of state.

  Sam smiled and opened her eyes. Again caught by the beauty of the stars, and the crisp perfection of heavenly scent.

  “Close the drapes.”

  Sam spun around, toppling her chair, crouched in position to spring, her heart hammering, only to find Payton standing at the door with a scowl that made his scar stand out more than usual.

  “Jesus, Payton, you scared the crap out of me,” she said, her own anger splintering through her with a force that surprised her.

  Payton ignored her and crossed to close the window. “I would have thought you’d have more sense. Sitting there like a duck on a pond waiting for a hunter to blow you away.” He jerked the drapes across, the drapery hooks protesting the rough treatment with a screech of metal on metal.

  “He’s a bomber, Payton. Not a sniper.” She reached down to right the chair, and then turned to face him, arms crossed, ready to do battle. “And what are you doing sneaking in here in the middle of the night scaring me to death? Thanks to you I might just need that little pill the doctor gave me.”

  “I’m staying here tonight.” He gestured to the sofa. “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “I see.” His chivalry sort of took the wind out of her sails. Although she was still angry.

  “Where’s Elizabeth?” he asked, perching on the back of the sofa.

  “Sleeping.” Sam shrugged, feigning indifference. “At least she was. Your little surprise attack may have woken her.”

  Payton’s eyebrows quirked in dispute, and then before she could stop him, he’d opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and was peering inside. “She’s still sleeping,” he said, pulling the door shut again. “You should be, too. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. You need your rest.”

  “And you’re not my mother.” She sounded like a petulant child, but she was so tired, and so keyed-up, and sometimes he made her so damn mad.

  “Fine. We’ll stay up.” He sat on the sofa this time, propping his feet on the coffee table.

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” She sat back in her chair, purposely turning her back on him.

  “The hell you don’t.” In one stride he was in front of her, and with one fluid motion he’d pulled her out of the chair. “In case you missed the fact, someone tried to kill your mother tonight.”

  “My mother. Not me.” They were standing nose to nose now, her anger building to the bursting point.

  “But it’s pretty obvious this guy was targeting you. And now that he thinks your mother is dead, maybe you’re next.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, it isn’t working.” Not exactly the truth, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it to him.

  “Damn it, Sam, I’m trying to get you to realize that you have to be careful. You could have been killed sitting in the window like that.”

  She should have known better. And it galled her to think she’d been so careless. The realization should have made her less angry at him, but somehow, it only made her madder. “I can take care of myself. Like I said before, the guy isn’t a sniper. He’s not out there waiting for the right shot. I’m thirty floors up, for God’s sake. I think it’s okay to have the window open.”

  He closed his eyes, no doubt counting to three, then opened them, his expression grim. “I just want to make certain you’re safe.”

  “Well I’m fine. Or at least as fine as I can be worrying about some jerk-off with a penchant for pyrotechnics who’s decided to target me and the people I love. Hell, if anyone needs to be kept safe, Payton, it’s you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE MINUTE THE WORDS were out, her heart threatened to stop. Right there on the spot, it wanted out of the whole equation. She’d just told him she loved him. In a roundabout way, certainly, but clearly she’d said it.

  Silence reigned for a moment, and then to her utter horror, she began to cry. And not the slo-mo beautiful kind of tears from the movies. No, this was full-blown, water-in-the-nose, sniffing-to-beat-the-band, red-eyed crying.

  Damn it all to hell.

  He stared at her for a moment, as if she’d morphed into a stranger, and she angrily tried to push the tears away, but they weren’t interested in retreating. And then he was holding her, his heart beating against hers, his arms feeling a whole lot like paradise.

  And suddenly she recognized her anger for what it was. Tension and fear, and all the other emotions she’d suppressed since she’d witnessed the bomb blast. At first she’d managed by focusing on the scene, and then she’d held it together for her mother, and then, well, she’d simply held it together because that’s what she always did.

  She let herself cry a little longer, let the pressure inside her ease a bit, and then when she felt like she had control, she pushed away from him, drying her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m more wound up than I thought.” An understatement considering the fact that she’d blurted out her feelings for him. But maybe the significance of her words had somehow sailed over his head.

  “You’ve been through a lot.” He pushed the hair out of her face, his hands so gentle she almost wanted to cry again, but she resisted the urge.

  “I’ve been through nothing,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “It’s my mother who lost everything, remember?”

  “And it’s you who thought yo
u’d lost your mother. Things can be replaced, Sam.”

  That’s basically what her mother had said. But the thought brought little comfort. “Nothing at all would have been lost if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “You don’t know that for certain.” He was still cupping her face.

  “Of course I do. I just don’t know why. None of it makes sense at all, actually. But I can’t avoid the fact that someone out there targeted my mother. I hardly think it was coincidence.”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you can’t take blame for something some off-his-nut bomber is doing.”

  “We don’t know that he’s crazy. I mean, maybe I did something somewhere along the way that—”

  “That what?” Payton interrupted. “Warranted killing your mother? That kind of thinking doesn’t make sense. Sometimes things just happen. And no matter how much you wish you could control them, you can’t.”

  “But I want to.” She pulled away clenching her fists. “Damn it, I’m supposed to.”

  “No you’re not. You do the best you can. And in your case, that means a hell of a lot. But you don’t have superpowers, and you can’t save the world.”

  “I don’t want to save the world, Payton. I want to save my mother. And Walter. And… God, I don’t know.”

  “You can’t control everything.” He sighed, letting his hands fall. “I know that better than anyone.”

  “So how do you stop blaming yourself?” she whispered, searching his face, hoping for something akin to absolution.

  “You don’t.” He shrugged. “At least I haven’t been able to. But that doesn’t mean you give up either. Maybe it just takes time. Or maybe you learn to live with it.”

  “Or maybe you just forgive yourself?” They weren’t talking about her anymore, and she reached out to touch his cheek, wondering if her mother was right, that it wasn’t about forgetting so much as finding a way to move on.

  “Maybe.” He covered her hand with his, and leaned forward, his lips brushing hers.

  She sighed at the contact, wanting him with a desperation that was born of desire, and need, and the remnants of her fear.

  But he pushed away, his gaze holding regret. “You need to sleep.”

  She wasn’t sure how to react. It was as if he’d slapped her, rejecting her in the most basic of ways. “Yeah,” she said, dropping her hand. “I guess I do.” She turned to go, heading for her room, tears forming again. This was turning into one hell of a night.

  “Sam.” He’d followed her, his words warm against her ear. She stopped, but didn’t turn around, unwilling to let him see how upset she was. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

  It wasn’t anything at all close to what she’d wanted him to say, but it wasn’t rejection. “It’s a two-way street, Payton. If I’m offering, then you’re not taking advantage.”

  It sounded sort of cold put into words like that, and it wasn’t precisely true. Every moment she spent with him meant a tighter bond, which ultimately meant that it would hurt that much more when this was all over and he headed off for whatever adventure called next.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around, his green eyes searching hers. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep, Sam.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” She bit her lip, trying to find the right words, realizing that he had heard her declaration, and it had obviously scared him. “I just need you now, okay? Nothing more than that.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but she held out her hand anyway and he took it.

  She led him into the bedroom, and closed the door. The men outside would look out for her mother, and the sleeping pill would no doubt last until morning. This was her time. And she intended to make the most of it.

  They shed their clothes and climbed into bed, Payton holding her close, his body warm against hers. At first they just lay there, spooning as if they’d slept this way for years, and then he turned her so that they were face-to-face, his green eyes worried.

  “I do care about you, Sam. More than I can put into words. It’s just that—”

  She covered his lips with a finger, shaking her head. “Don’t. Let’s just take the time we have. Okay?”

  He nodded, but she could still see anxiety in his gaze. Payton Reynolds was an honorable man. And he didn’t want to hurt her. There was comfort in the thought, even though it was probably too late.

  She leaned over to kiss him, the touch starting out gentle, and then combusting into something neither of them could control. Whatever demons separated them, sexual chemistry was not the problem. She ran her hands down the broad planes of his back, reveling in his strength.

  His scars felt raw and puckered beneath her fingers, and she marveled that a man could survive what he had. Suddenly she wanted to taste him. To memorize the feel and smell of him, as if by doing so, she could hold the memory forever in her heart.

  She traced the line of his jaw with her tongue, his beard-roughened chin rasping beneath her touch. Then she tasted the hollow of his throat, and the line of his shoulder, stopping to caress the shrapnel-roughened skin.

  Next she closed her mouth over his nipple, using her tongue to tease it to erection, delighting in his guttural reaction. She slid her mouth lower, then, circling the muscle-hardened skin of his abdomen, the edge of his belly button.

  His penis jutted hard against her stomach, and she reached down to wrap her hand around it, stroking and kneading, delighting in the velvety feel of him. She wanted to explore every inch of him, leaving no territory uncharted, and she moved again, this time kissing the tender skin between his thighs, her breath teasing him as it passed.

  With an audible groan he reached under her arms, pulling her along the length of his body, until they were again face-to-face. “I want you now.” His voice was husky with need, and she felt the heat rising within her. He moved then so that he was poised above her, his gaze locking with hers. “Playtime’s over.”

  For a moment he held his position, simply looking at her, his eyes greedy, his breath hot against her face. She clenched inside, her body threatening to climax on the spot. She opened to him, and everything disappeared except the passion between them. No bomber. No family. No nightmares.

  Just the two of them. Body to body, soul to soul. A man and a woman as it was intended to be. Two halves of a whole.

  He lifted and impaled her, the act at once conquering and surrendering. She drove upward in response, taking his penis deep inside her, striving for completion—this moment, this man, belonging to her.

  Slowly they began to move, the friction building like the crest of a wave until she was riding high atop it, lost in the feel of his body moving within hers, his strength, her softness, the two becoming one. There was no quarter given and none taken. She gave as good as she got, knowing he was there with her, riding the same wave.

  And still they moved, her body ratcheting tighter with each stroke, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable. She reached up then, pulling him close, her lips meeting his, her tongue mirroring his body as it pounded into hers, thrust for thrust until the rhythm was the same and she forgot all logic, time disappearing into motion and sensation, every nerve in her body begging for release.

  He reached between them then, his thumb finding the tender nub of her clitoris. He began to move and the world broke apart like crystal shattering against marble, the shards glittering as they spiraled into the night, raking through her body with an intensity that sucked her breath away.

  Later, much later, she drifted down through the darkness, her contractions subsiding until they were only gentle undulations caressing his penis as it lay soft and contented within her. He clasped her face in his hands, his kiss gentle now, passion spent.

  There might be no spoken covenant between them, but there were promises nonetheless. They were there in the tenderness of his kiss. In the way they lay together, spent but still connected. And in the deep, dark green of his eyes.

  She wanted
to hold him there forever. To stop time and keep this moment in a glass jar beside the bed. But even as she had the thought she knew it was ridiculous. Nothing lasted forever, and Payton wasn’t a man to be caught and put on display.

  So instead, she nestled her head against his chest, and fell asleep listening to the soft even sound of his breathing.

  PAYTON LAY IN THE DARKNESS, watching shadows dance across the ceiling. The fierce independence that Sam maintained by daylight disappeared when she fell asleep. Her head rested on his shoulder, her arm flung across his chest, one slim thigh draped possessively across his leg.

  He could feel her heart beating against his and the movement of her chest as she breathed slowly in and out, Morpheus holding her fast in his arms. The moon cast its rays across the bed, touching her hair and turning it to silver. It made him think of an old story from a book his mother had loved. The Moon-Spinners.

  Supposedly you could run into them. Three girls holding three spindles, the threads rays of moonlight. They were spinning down the moon. Bringing darkness, and protecting the creatures of the night.

  He couldn’t remember any more of it, couldn’t even remember if it was part of mythology, or just the fiction of a story his mother had read. Still, he loved the idea of it. Spinning the moon.

  He hadn’t thought of his mother in years. Not like that anyway. He kept her memory, of course, but he rarely allowed himself to call upon it. There wasn’t much really. She’d been thin with dark hair. And she read a lot, and told him stories. She’d smelled of lavender, and Palmolive dish soap, and she’d had a way of stroking his hair back from his face that even now filled him with contentment.

  He smiled in the dark, tightening his arm around Sam. Somehow, being with her filled him with the same sort of contentment. A deep peace that came with the knowledge that he was loved.

  She hadn’t meant to tell him, of course, the words coming out in anger. But the message had been there nevertheless, and he added the knowledge to the special things he kept in his heart. He could never give her what she needed. He wasn’t the type of man who could deal with home and hearth, although at times he longed for both. Still, if he really was honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he cared for her.