“I’d probably do the same thing in your place,” he admitted.
Declan pulled up in front of her house. Rather than keep the car running as he waited for her to get out, he turned the engine off and got out. Rounding the hood of his vehicle, he came around to her side. She’d already opened the door, but he took her hand and helped her out. For once, she let him.
“I can find my own front door,” she told him with a hint of a smile.
“Humor me,” Declan muttered as he walked with her. And then he grew serious. “If you need anything, anything at all, you know you can call me, right?”
Charley turned from the door she’d just unlocked and nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I know.”
Raising her eyes to his, she began to search for the words to thank him for everything. Most of all, for letting her continue with the investigation despite the fact that he’d found out that Matt was her brother. She wanted, too, to thank him for just being there.
For some reason, the words just refused to materialize. Because Matt had taught her that action spoke louder than words, she rose up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his lips.
Just like the first time, a jolt of electricity accompanied the contact, zigzagging through her. Unlike the first time, the contact was not brief. Instead, the kiss, intense and filled with emotions as well as no small amount of vulnerability, gave birth to another kiss. And then another one, each longer and stronger than the last.
Charley didn’t remember just exactly when her arms went around his neck, or when her body leaned, then pressed against his. She didn’t remember feeling as if she’d lost her way because, suddenly, she’d found it, stumbling through a portal she hadn’t even known was there.
A portal that took her from the world she knew, a world where everything was clearly, neatly defined and labeled, a world that was structured so that she could find her way around even in the dark, into a world that was comprised of emotions and passions and needs that flared to such a degree they would have consumed her had there not been something for her to gravitate toward.
Though she didn’t remember the exact logistics—even as they were happening—one moment she was on her doorstep, the next she was inside her house, the door slammed shut, the rest of the world barred from entry, with only the two of them to populate this brave new world unfolding before her.
Damn, so much for the hope that the first time had been a fluke. If anything, it paled in comparison to the way he felt right now, completely wrapped up in this woman he was supposed to be partnered with.
There was a need eating away at him, taking out huge chunks at a time. Declan had no doubt that all of him would be gone soon, sacrificed to this burning desire he was experiencing. A burning desire to be with her, to make love with her.
To lose himself completely within her until he wasn’t sure where he ended and she began.
Not that it mattered.
He’d always, always, even when it was his first time, had a clear head. He’d never been governed by his emotions, never been led around by his passions...before. Logic and common sense had always been his navigators. Now logic was nowhere to be found and all he knew was that he’d wind up burning down to a useless cinder if he couldn’t have her.
And have her soon.
But this is wrong, something inside his head screamed. He was taking advantage of the moment, of her vulnerability. Never mind that she had started it by kissing him, he was at fault for not at least attempting to talk her out of it. He hadn’t backed away and made her understand that it was the fear of being alone that was driving her this way. That was making her do what she was doing—connecting with him.
Lightly framing her face with his hands, Declan forced himself to pull back from her.
When he did, Charley appeared bewildered, as if she’d done something wrong to make him stop, but hadn’t a clue as to what that one wrong thing was.
“You don’t want to do this,” Declan told her gently.
“No offense,” Charley replied, her voice low, her body aching, “but you don’t have a clue what I want.”
He caught her hands as she was about to put them back around his neck. She might want this now, but what of tomorrow? Was she going to look back with an overwhelming sense of shame tomorrow?
“I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret in the morning.”
“I’ll only regret it if we stop right now,” she said softly.
He felt her breath along his skin, felt her yearning pulsating and mingling with his own. Declan had always prided himself on being a strong man, but in this case, his strength had only gone so far and it was now in retreat.
He’d reached his limit. He didn’t have it in him to hold her back or hold himself in check, any longer than he just had.
So when Charley brought her mouth back up to his, he didn’t stop her.
He couldn’t stop her. Because the second her mouth touched his, the explosive desire returned.
In triplicate.
Very quickly, the path from her front door up to her bedroom was littered with articles of clothing. Hers and his, mingling, overlapping.
For each piece that she took off him, Declan removed one from her, all while their lips were sealed to one another.
A flurry of movement, becoming faster and faster, marked their trail until somehow, almost defying gravity—certainly defying memory—they were in her bedroom, as naked as the day they were born, bathed in desire that took all inhibitions, all common sense away and replaced it with the anticipation of ecstasy that was impossible to contain.
For all his experience, Declan felt like a novice all over again, because he’d never been down this road, never felt desire causing every fiber of his being to vibrate the way that it did this minute. That final moment of passionate fulfillment shimmered before him like a tempting mirage in the desert, coaxing him to go on, seducing him.
Holding him prisoner as with each passing moment, he drew closer and closer to that last wild, gratifying moment that was still eluding him.
So this was what it was like. This was what it felt like to want someone, to need someone with every fiber of her body and soul. She’d thought these kinds of things were the stuff that wistful songs and fairy tales were made of. But in real life, she’d been certain that they didn’t exist.
In real life, the mingling of two bodies, of sex, was just that: sex. Cold, hard and there.
Nothing magical about it.
But she’d been wrong.
Really wrong and she’d never been so happy to be wrong in her life.
Every inch of her felt as if it was in competition with itself. In competition for his touch, his caress, for the intoxicating feel of his lips along her skin. Every place that came in contact with some part of him arched against him, as if silently—and not so silently—begging for more.
Begging for those ever mounting peaks that kept forming within her, exploding even as they whispered promises of more.
He felt her climaxes and experienced them by proxy, growing more and more excited with each one that he felt vibrating through her body.
Charley made him wild with anticipation until he couldn’t keep himself in check a second longer.
Enfolding her in his arms, Declan brought his body to hers, aligned himself with hers just so.
And then he entered.
Biting her lower lip, Charley smothered a cry of pleasure as she arched even more, her body silently inviting him to take what had been his from the very beginning.
Declan didn’t remember when he began to move in sync with her, only that the rhythm increased almost from the beginning and she matched him, thrust for thrust, slowly, pleasurably driving him over the edge.
He held on to her as if she was his very lifeline, not to the world, but t
o paradise.
The anticipation grew, becoming ever stronger, until suddenly, it tightened around them and burst forth, sending out sky rockets and fireworks of unimaginable beauty, breadth and intensity.
Declan held on to it—and her—for all he was worth.
If he died this moment, that would be fine with him. Because he had lived.
* * *
Gradually, as the earth began to appear below him, he became aware of the pounding of Charley’s heart. The pulsating sound was an echo of his own.
Other things came into focus—and along with them, his conscience.
For a few seconds—or was it minutes?—he just lay there, continuing to draw breath and nothing more. But he knew that he could only put off the inevitable for so long. After all, he couldn’t play dead or pretend to be asleep indefinitely. Eventually, he was going to have to face her.
He might as well do it now.
He began formulating his apology slowly. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.
The words disappeared in her hair. He’d said them against the top of her head and while she felt the vibration of his voice along her skull, she couldn’t really make out the words.
Turning her head, moving it away from his lips, Charley asked, “What?”
“Did I hurt you?” Declan asked again, obviously concerned.
The question struck her as funny. She laughed softly at it. “I’d say the exact opposite.” She turned her head so that it was resting against his chest. Her breath was burned into his chest with every word she said. “Why would you think that?” she asked. As far as she knew, she’d given no indication of being on the receiving end of pain.
“Because I just went ahead. I didn’t give you a chance to say no.” He was inching his way closer to an apology.
“You would have had a long wait,” she told him with a smile.
Looking at him now, her smile grew wider. He was probably worried about what she was thinking now after what had happened between them. He had definitely rocked her world, but she knew that the odds of her doing the same to his were little to none. And now that the fun part was over, he was probably concerned about the possible consequences.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “I’m not holding you to anything. I’m a big girl, Declan. This had no strings attached.”
“Right. Good to know,” he said, the words dribbling forth slowly from his lips.
But for the first time, Declan realized that he wanted strings.
“But you know, now that I think of it,” Declan told her, “I never had a ‘no strings’ conversation with you.”
“You didn’t have to,” she replied.
Though she had told herself that she was more than sated, something within her was all but pulling toward this man with the incredibly hard body again. Even now, her body was half resonating from what had just taken place and half tingling with anticipation of what was lying ahead.
“Oh?” Declan asked, his curiosity, as well as his body, aroused. “And why’s that?”
“Because no man wants strings.”
“My brothers did,” he pointed out, finding himself reacting to her all over again. Wanting her all over again. “The other Cavanaugh men in the family did,” he went on.
“The rookie at the Academy who drew women to him like a high-powered magnet didn’t,” she reminded him.
“The academy,” he told her, his fingertips languidly moving along either side of her body, memorizing each contour, tantalizing them both, “is years in the past. And I’m not.”
“If anything,” she countered, arching her body against his, every part of her being humming with yearning, “that rookie would be even more prone to keep moving from willing woman to willing woman.”
“Guess again,” he whispered against her mouth just before his lips covered hers.
It all sounded so pretty, so wonderful, but they were words he was saying, just words, Charley reminded herself. She had to remember that and not get too caught up in all this. As long as she was aware that this—all of this—was just temporary, she’d be all right.
At least, that was the plan.
* * *
Darkness slowly crept in and took possession of the room as the sun outside receded in the sky, moving on in its orbit.
The figure on the sofa didn’t move, hardly breathed.
The person who had been immobile for the past half hour, thinking, continued to stare at the bulletin board that hung on the opposite wall. The bulletin board where covertly taken photographs had been hung.
Photographs of police officers, all of whom were carefully selected and marked for death.
The first four photographs each had a large red X drawn through them. These were the targets that had been eliminated.
Men who could no longer draw a breath.
Men who shouldn’t have been able to draw breath for as long as they did.
But justice, long overdue, had been served in their cases. There was more justice to be handed out.
This was not the time for resting, for sitting and basking in past accomplishments. This was a time for action—because other targets were waiting to be taken out.
So many more targets.
And each and every one of them was guilty. Each and every one of the police officers on that bulletin board deserved to die.
Should have already died.
The shooter beat back the wave of mounting frustration. It would take patience. With patience everything was possible.
Rising from the sofa, the tall, previously inert figure seemed to come alive.
Moving with purpose, the shooter crossed the Spartan-looking living room and came to stand before the bulletin board.
“Which one of you will be next? Which will be the next one to die? Any volunteers?”
Different people required different plans and everything had to be timed, had to go down just so. There was no room for error.
The shooter wouldn’t stand for it.
“Doesn’t really matter which one of you will be next,” the shooter finally said, an eerie laugh scratching the night air as it accompanied the words. “You’re all going to be in the same place soon. You’re all going to be dead.”
Relishing the thought, the shooter’s mouth curved into an icy smile of anticipation.
* * *
On his way home the next evening, Andrew Cavanaugh smiled to himself.
It had been a good, extremely productive and satisfying day.
It wasn’t often that he patted himself on the back for something, but this definitely was one of those rare times. Through his efforts of relentless investigation, he’d not only discovered the missing branch of his family that his father had charged him with finding, he’d made contact with them. Not only that, but he made arrangements to have the entire bunch—and it was a bunch—come out to his place a week from next Saturday so that they could get acquainted with a lot of family that they hadn’t even realized existed.
Who would have thought that the missing branch of the family was only a city away? And that those members were all, just as they were here, entrenched in law enforcement?
He didn’t normally believe in coincidences, but this, certainly, was one.
It was a damn small world, he thought with a chuckle.
He was really tired, but at the same time, he was very pleased with himself.
He’d called Rose before he left and shared everything. She was as excited as he was. He’d ended the call by telling her that he was coming home tonight, but it might be late so she shouldn’t wait up.
As if she’d listen to him, he thought with a soft laugh. The light of his life listened to him when she wanted to, did what she wanted the rest of the time.
It didn’t matter. He
was a hell of a lucky man and he knew it.
He—
His breath caught in his throat as he thought he made out something up ahead.
Damn, what was that?
He felt for his shirt pocket.
Where had he put his glasses? He should have worn them, but they made him feel old.
Hell, you are old, a voice in his head said.
Andrew squinted. He thought he saw something staggering up ahead in the road. Not wanting to take any chances, he swerved at the last minute to keep from hitting it.
As his car spun to the left, he struggled to regain control of it.
Andrew was so busy trying to steer into the spin, he didn’t see the person in the middle of the road raising a gun until it was too late.
The single, resounding shot went into his windshield, shattering it.
The last thing Andrew Cavanaugh was aware of was the windshield glass falling inside his vehicle like so many bits of fragmented snowflakes.
The pain in his chest consumed him, blotting out the entire world.
Chapter 16
The bent, ragged, homeless man who had appeared to have been so preoccupied with pawing through the overflowing trash cans that were lined up in the alley instantly came to attention at the first sound of tires squealing.
Eyes on the fishtailing white sedan in the middle of the deserted road, the undercover DEA agent heard the gunshot screaming through the night air and then saw the shooter walking toward the immobilized vehicle.
By then he stopped pretending to be a spectator and was sprinting toward the car and the victim he glimpsed inside it.
That was when the shooter realized there was someone else in the vicinity besides the driver who was presumably taken out. Swallowing a livid curse, the shooter dropped the note that was meant to be stapled to the newest victim’s chest, turned around and ran back into the shadows, seeking the cover of night.
Intent on survival, the shooter didn’t see the ragged man dragging the former chief of police from his car. Otherwise, risky or not, a second shot would have pierced the night air.
Cavanaugh Hero Page 16
