Deadly Abandon

by Kallie Lane

  “Holy frickin’ cannoli!”

  “She’s okay, Dr. Forest.” Sully angled his chin at the SUV. “You can check for yourself.”

  Forest crossed to the Tahoe and sprang the passenger door in an instant. “Pumpkin? Did that nutbar hurt you?”

  “No, I’m perfectly fine, Dad. Even the EMTs said I’m good to go.”

  Right. A person would have to be blind to believe that load of BS. Sully figured Jack Forest couldn’t help but notice his daughter had seen better days. A slight breeze would knock her flat if she wasn’t already sitting down. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face sooty with streaks of grime.

  “You look like hell and you’re a terrible liar, my girl.” Jack stared her down, crossed his arms and rocked on his heels. “But I am going to call your bluff. If you think you can manage, I’ll stay here tonight, and catch a few winks in the office. The animals boarding with us will be upset by the smell of smoke and so much activity going on. It’s really a blessing they were in another wing of the building.”

  “I know, and I’m glad you’re keeping them company.” Breeana shot her father a ghost of a smile. “And don’t worry about us. Cody and I won’t be alone. We’ll have the dogs.”

  “Sure.” Forest snorted, closed the door, and turned in his direction, and spoke in a low voice. “You’ll stay with them, Lieutenant? I don’t want any harm to come to them. Who knows what the maniac will do next?”

  “Don’t worry, sir, I’m not leaving.”

  Forest’s clear-eyed gaze studied him for a time, taking in his measure. “I’m relying on you to be professional, Lieutenant, to do the right thing.”

  “I understand, sir.” Oh man, did he ever. In other words, keep your grubby paws off my daughter.

  Satisfied, Jack nodded. Turned back to the SUV, and leaned through the window to kiss Breeana. “You stay home and rest for a few days. And don’t worry about the mess at the clinic. I’ll have a crew make the necessary repairs in the morning. From now on, I’ll handle any emergency calls coming in after hours. Goodnight all.”

  ****

  The Shepherd smiled to himself. It felt good to be alive. Thank God, Breeana McGill couldn’t say the same. He’d nailed the bitch but good.

  Taking a drag from his cigar, he watched the circus—the troop of police and firemen outside the veterinary clinic—satisfaction a living thing inside him.

  He couldn’t wait to see them wheel her out, black body bag strapped to a gurney. Too bad he couldn’t attend the autopsy too. That would be the pièce de résistance, and—oh, shit. What’s this? The coroner’s van pulled out of the parking lot without a dead body.

  It didn’t take a crystal ball to figure out what had happened. While he’d slipped out the back way—whistling to the hymn on his iPhone—the cop and firemen must have charged through the front door and saved her. The smoke alarm’s wail inside the clinic hadn’t clued him in to their approach.

  Man, I was lucky to get out of there undetected.

  After making his escape, he’d almost freaked when he’d seen the rescue vehicles in front of the building, strewn across the lawn like tinker toys. They must have responded in record time, quick enough to pluck Breeana from the jaws of death.

  He circled the block for the third time, shot the brown sedan into a parking space, and killed the engine. Cracking his knuckles to ease the tension, he cursed the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

  The night air stirred around him, the quiet almost absolute with most of the city tucked safely in their beds.

  If they only knew.

  The only noise came from the crime scene on the far corner, the hustle of firemen dragging hoses and setting equipment to rights. The collective murmur of the crowd gathered on the street. He needed a closer look.

  A small bottle lay on the console. He tapped its contents into his palms, masking the smoky scent still lingering on his skin with expensive sage cologne. Next he stripped off the coveralls, stuffed them in a garbage bag, and tossed them in the trunk. He’d burn those later.

  A brief glance at his golf shirt, khaki trousers and spit-shined shoes confirmed he was good to go. Locking up, he set off down the street and noticed a uniform panning the crowd with a camera zoom lens. Thanks to CSI and other crime shows, even dumbass local cops filmed at arson investigations now. It seemed everyone knew firebugs returned to the scene.

  I’m here. Come and get me.

  Images of Breeana poured through his mind and taunted him. Her perfect face. Her tight body. Her slutty woman scent. Was she badly burned and disfigured now? She had better be, considering the trouble he’d gone to. He needed to see the damage for himself, but doubted she was still inside.

  Wind whipped around a corner of the brownstone, bringing with it the smoky stench pouring from a broken window. The Shepherd inhaled deep, searching for the stink of burned flesh. It wasn’t happening.

  An hour later, the front door opened and a man came out carrying several garbage bags. Jack Forest, the devil who had spawned her. A local television reporter rushed up to catch a few sound bytes before he dropped the trash in a dumpster and moved back inside.

  “Doctor Forest, is there any news on your daughter? How is she doing?”

  Forest turned to the woman and smiled. “She’s doing fine, Katy. She’ll be back at work in a few days.”

  The Shepherd clenched his fists, moved out of the crowd, and headed for his car. We’ll see how fine she is after I’m finished with her.

  Angling into his ride, he cranked the engine. He had to move. Breeana was waiting.

  ****

  Cody paced the rain-soaked driveway when they rolled to a stop in front of the house.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, kiddo. The smoke got to me, that’s all. I just need a hot shower.”

  “Yeah, and a bowl of my famous chili to perk you up. It’s an old family recipe. Gramps and I made it for dinner when you were at the hockey meeting.”

  Much later, after they’d eaten the chili—well, Bree only nibbled a few bites—and after she’d shared the details of the clinic fire with Cody for the umpteenth time, her son headed back to bed. Sully could see Breeana was shaken more than she’d wanted anyone to know. Hell, she crumpled before his eyes. While she could hide her face in her hands, she could not control the tremors racking her body.

  Unable to help himself, he sank to the leather couch beside her and drew her into his arms. Regret hit him like a sidewinder. He shouldn’t be doing this—holding her, comforting her, getting too damn close for his own good.

  Her hair was damp from the shower and smelled of flowery shampoo. The intoxicating scent soon combined with the rustle of black silk pajamas skimming her curves and drove him wild. Whoa. He brushed his lips against her temple and his groin twitched up a notch. She must have felt it, yet she snuggled deeper into his shoulder as she sobbed her heart out.

  Lord have mercy.

  He broke into a cold sweat; the significance of Jack’s parting words topped the “Keep-Your-Hands-Off” list of reasons why he could not have sex with an assault victim. And as if it wasn’t enough, there was also Breeana’s son sleeping upstairs, the woman’s total vulnerability, and the full-scale police investigation he conducted.

  Maybe he should also add she wasn’t a one-night stand. This woman came with a convoy of baggage, permanency in a relationship, and one lanky teenager being the obvious parts of the equation.

  And didn’t that put a man’s brakes on in one hell of a hurry? Yep, permanency was a totally foreign concept to him. Protecting the innocent and solving homicides took too much out of him. He had nothing left to give a woman.

  “Cookie? You okay now?” He needed to separate their bodies by the length of a football field. Maybe two.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a muffled voice. Yet, she didn’t pull away from him.

  It was okay. No harm—no foul. None of it was a problem because he hadn’t crossed the line. He was a sucker for
a damsel in distress, that’s all.

  He could still protect her. And when she was out of danger, he had enough willpower to walk away. The important thing was to maintain his professional distance until then, to keep his edge and keep her alive. Otherwise, she could well be the next victim of a nutcase.

  Joelle may have hit the nail on the head when she said the psycho would go insane if his plans were thwarted. His plan to kill Breeana had just failed, big time. Would the killer come after her again? He’d bet his last dollar on it.

  “I never cry,” Breeana snuffled into his shoulder, knuckling tears from her eyes. “So don’t think I’m crying now, because I’m not. It’s an allergic reaction to the smoke. That’s all it is.”

  “Hey, I believe you.” Sully rubbed her back in slow, lazy circles. Hell, most people would be mainlining tranquilizers after being baptized by the fire. Not this lady. Nope. Instead, she put on a brave face and stiffened her backbone. He could not help but admire her tenacity. Who would have thought the heart of a warrior beat in such a womanly chest?

  “Okay, tell me one more time. Are you sure you didn’t recognize your assailant?”

  She tossed him a glare that spoke volumes. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve already told you. It was so dark in the storeroom I could barely make out an outline of the guy. And even when he did use his flashlight, he was shining it at me.”

  “Well, you’re going to tell me again. What about height?”

  Breeana shifted to study his face, her breath hitching in her lungs. “I was standing on a ladder staring down at him, Sully. I have no idea about height, or anything else, for that matter. But he seemed really tall to me, larger than life.”

  “What about the voice, Bree? Think hard. Was there anything familiar about it?”

  “An evil hiss,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I would recognize it again. I could barely hear over the music.”

  “Music? After the power was cut? What—”

  Breeana touched a finger to his lips. “Sully, please, I have a terrible headache. Can we finish this in the morning?”

  He focused on her trembling mouth. Impossible to resist, he leaned in close and slid his lips along hers. She tasted sweet, warm, and vulnerable. He regretted the impulse because he wanted more. Like a man starving at a banquet table, he wanted Breeana as the main course. Naked.

  Back the hell off and get yourself under control, asshole. “We’re done for tonight.”

  “Yes…done.” Breeana seemed dazed by his kiss, not that he blamed her. It sure wasn’t standard operating procedure for him. Her eyelids lowered to half-mast, probably more from confusion than exhaustion.

  He fought the urge. He really did, but still managed to pull her against him and tuck her head under his chin. Then her fingers strayed on a journey of their own, along his shoulders to the longish hair at the back of his neck. He tugged her hands down, his lips again brushing the sweetness of her mouth, alarm bells bonging inside his head.

  He almost lost it when her lips parted for him, his tongue slicking their velvety interior. Enough. He sighed with regret while forcing his mouth away from her open invitation.

  What the hell? He never got this close to women in the line of duty.

  Man-oh-man, the police ethics board will have a field day if I don’t stomp on the brakes with both feet. I’ll be FUBARed and fried. I can see the headline—‘Death by Professional Suicide.’

  He set her slightly away from him, ran his hands through the russet curls at her shoulders, and frowned into the forest depths of her eyes. “Bree, I need to back off.”

  “I know,” she sighed.

  She leaned into his side again, her breath squeaking in her throat. He kissed the top of her head, smoothed a loose strand of hair behind an ear, and gave her a gentle nudge.

  “A man can only take so much, cookie. Let’s get some sleep before I change my mind and we do something we’ll both regret in the morning.”

  Sully camped on the sofa after taking a long, very cold shower. The protectiveness he felt for Breeana was out of character. Lust he understood. But, the sappy need to coddle and touch her in non-sexual ways was new to him. Maybe he had a raging fever.

  All he knew for sure was he burned from the inside out. He suspected he wanted a lot more from the woman than a romp in a king-size.

  ****

  The Shepherd crept along the stone retaining wall to get a closer look at the living room—Breeana and the cop on the couch. Touching and kissing.

  He spat on the ground, his mind seething with anger and disgust. The woman was a slut, a lousy whore. She was all over the police lieutenant like fleas on a dog. Even a man of strength was powerless to stop her.

  The Shepherd wanted inside the house to punish her.

  Too bad it couldn’t happen tonight, not with super cop on the job. He’d checked the man out, knew the lieutenant was military trained, Special Ops trained, and still on the active reserve list.

  Hell, the man dodged bullets for fun. He liked playing with guns and other bang, bang toys. And, oh yeah, he mixed it up with his fists like Rocky on steroids.

  I won’t go up against him, not yet. Especially not with the Rottweiler staring out the window as if it knows I’m here. The dog wants me dead. That much is clear. Another time. Another place.

  He watched Breeana and the cop climb the stairs with their arms wrapped around each other—probably headed to her bedroom to sweat up the sheets.

  He lowered the binoculars, checking for passers-by before dropping from the retaining wall to the well-worn path below. Keeping to the shadows, he followed the shoreline to his car parked near the marina.

  Rage ate holes in his gut. Burning was too good for her, the pain too quick. It came to him then, a message from the Lord, Himself.

  He needed to step up the pace. He knew the kid’s schedule, only had a few days to put his plan together.

  Why not? He’d use her son to draw her out.

  Too bad, so sad, Breeana. Satan’s got you by the throat, but not for much longer.

  Chapter Five

  The alarm beeped. Breeana hit the snooze button, rolled over, and covered her head with a pillow. She hadn’t slept well, wanted to stay in bed. Still, Cody had an exam today. Would he get up on his own and be ready to leave on time?

  The sound of someone moving around downstairs sharpened her focus. Way too early for Cody’s feet to hit the floor. And she remembered. Sully. Crap.

  Did the fire have something to do with her restless sleep? Sure. But holy, holy cow, her grieving widow’s restraint slipped big time last night, singing Hit Me With Your Best Shot while she crawled all over Sully on the couch. She groaned. When had her need for comfort shifted to lusting after him? Thank God he’d pushed her away and slept on the couch.

  The front door opened and closed. Breeana crept to the window and peeked out. Below in the driveway, Sully spoke with the uniforms in a police cruiser parked in front of the house. He glanced up at her window, saw her standing there, nodded as he unlocked his Tahoe, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway.

  Embarrassment flooded her system. Congratulations, Bree. Not only does he think you’re a sex starved idiot, but you’re a freaking voyeur as well.

  An hour later, she was showered, dressed in apple-green capris with a matching tank top, and headed back upstairs with coffee in hand. Fortified after two cups, she swept her unruly hair into a tail on top of her head and applied some lip gloss. Not a bad way to start the day, considering her experiences of the night before.

  She grimaced into the vanity mirror and stuck her tongue out at her reflection as her wayward actions on the couch last night came flooding back. Good grief, she had practically jumped Sully’s bones when he had comforted her.

  Her cheeks flamed at the memory of her reckless behavior. For some reason, she was more than attracted to Sullivan Sauvage. He’d captured her attention. And no matter how hard she fought the pull, he drew her like metal to a magnet. The mysterious
hold unsettled her, making her want to run in the opposite direction.

  Life after her husband’s death was still unchartered territory. Uncertain how to begin again, Breeana had buried her female desires right alongside Tom’s body. She had barely managed to survive his death and go through the day-to-day motions of living without him.

  It had taken months for her to pull back from the raw edge of despair. Another year before she could stand on her own two feet again. These were hard won victories, ones she couldn’t throw away by having an affair with any man, not even Sully, tempting as he might be.

  So, why did she feel like a lovelorn spinster in some historical novel? Because Sully made her feel. He made her want things she had not felt in a very long time. But, she refused to indulge and invite pain back into her life. No, her best friend was, and would stay, her vibrator—something impersonal and without emotional ties.

  The doorbell rang.

  Grabbing her mug, she took a sip of coffee and headed for the front entrance. Following Sully’s orders, she looked through the side window.

  There he was, the object of her sexy ruminations back on her doorstep, and he wasn’t alone. Taking a breath, she flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.

  “Morning.” Sully inclined his head toward the woman and man standing beside him, both of them carrying bulky silver cases. “May we come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” She stood to the side, allowing them to enter.

  “I’d like you to meet Denise and Pete from the crime lab. They’ll be spending some time here today searching for possible evidence.”

  “Evidence? Evidence of what? I was attacked at the clinic, not here. You’re at the wrong address, Lieutenant.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.” Sully drew her aside and motioned to the staircase. The two criminalists hoisted their cases and headed for the second floor. “Start in the master bedroom. I’ll join you there after I’ve had a chance to explain things to Dr. McGill.”