If only

by Cherise Sinclair

  So she didn’t know…

  But he knew the imp. Knew her strength. And intelligence. Even without Dan or Galen or Vance’s explanations, Sally would figure out what was going on. She’d either hack out the info or weasel it out of someone. By now, she’d know why they’d sent her away.

  He’d thought she would call.

  He should have known better. Being Sally, she’d want to yell at them in person. Fuck, he loved her.

  His smile grew. Even though he’d still have to send her away for her own safety, anticipation hummed through his body. After he apologized his ass off—and maybe swatted her ass for risking her neck by coming here—he could have her sweet body in his arms for a few minutes. Listen to her bright voice, her laughter…or, more likely, her shouting.

  Just don’t let her cry, please.

  He walked out the front door and glanced around. Impenetrable growth lay on each side of their property—Florida’s version of a chain-link fence—which would take a machete and flamethrower to get through.

  Her car pulled into the drive. And just in case Somerfeld had gotten to her, was hiding in her car, Vance had drawn his weapon.

  But she slid out, slammed the door, and scowled at him with an expression that was easy to read. Her chin was up, her shoulders squared. She certainly wasn’t a terrified kidnapped victim.

  She was prepared for battle. Damn, she made him proud. She’d argue, undoubtedly, that the chances of her being targeted were slim to none. That all the deaths had happened in New York. That she belonged with them.

  But no. He holstered his weapon and stood where he was. Waiting.

  As she walked toward him, her control slipped, and he grinned when she broke into a run.

  She slammed into him and hugged him, holding him so tightly she shook with the effort.

  Unable to help himself, he pulled her closer. Breathing in her clean, sweet scent was like unexpectedly finding almond cookies. So fucking sweet. “Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We’ll work this out somehow.”

  “You told me to move out.” Her words were muffled by being said into his chest. “I’m really mad at you.” Her arms didn’t loosen in the least.

  Don’t laugh. “I know.”

  “I figured out why, but did you have to be so mean about it?”

  Hell, exactly what they’d realized, far too late. “I should have explained.” He rubbed his chin on her silky hair. “Trouble is, we’d just seen the pictures of the other cops who were killed. And you called, and while you were on the phone, I saw photos of the woman he murdered. It was an ugly death, Sally.”

  “Kari told me.”

  “After seeing those, all we could think about was keeping you safe. If the bastard comes after Galen for revenge, we want you far, far away.”

  The last bit of tension slid out of her body, and she leaned against him fully, all soft curves. “I don’t think sending me away is the right answer.”

  And because of her spiteful father, sending her away would affect her more than most women. He frowned. What if the asshole didn’t get caught in the next hour? If this dragged on and on. “Maybe we can find a way to compromise.” Maybe all of them at a safe house? Maybe they could move. Or work from home. Or never leave Sally alone so she always had one guard. Teach her to shoot. Get a big dog—Raoul had found an excellent shepherd for his Kim, one from a company that specialized in protecting women. Move to Mexico. He huffed a laugh. Yes, he was losing his mind. She needed to leave. “Let me talk to Galen about it.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Sally, he won’t let you stay long enough to argue.”

  She snorted. “Because he knows I’ll win an argument. If he’s in danger, this is where I want to be. I can help you stand guard. Three’s better than two, after all.”

  Galen versus Sally. I should sell tickets. But he wouldn’t let her stay either. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll talk with—”

  “Vance, I-I need to see him. If nothing else, to know he’s okay.” She tipped her head back to smile up at him. Her brown eyes had light golden flecks that sparkled in the sunlight. Stubborn and mischievous, a terrifying combination. “But I’m glad I saw you first. I needed to know you were all right too.”

  That nurturing streak of hers was even stronger than he’d thought. Couldn’t say he didn’t prize that trait. In fact, he wanted, more and more, to give her a little one to mother.

  He bent his head, taking himself another kiss. Her lips were sweet, soft, generous. Given the choice, he’d have hauled her straight up to his bed. “You sure you don’t want me to pave the way?”

  “No.” When she straightened her shoulders, her full breasts strained against the bright red halter top she wore.

  His mouth went dry. “Brought all your weapons to war, did you?”

  “I’m a firm believer in outgunning a man—and kicking him once he’s down.” She fluffed her hair.

  Although she grinned at him, he could still see lingering hurt in her big brown eyes, and he squeezed her shoulder. “I love you, Sally.”

  She leaned against him for a moment. “Love you too—even if you are an idiot.”

  He wanted to defend her, to at least accompany her back and take the brunt of Galen’s anger. But sometimes two people had to battle it out, and stepping between them would only get the peacemaker slaughtered by both. “He’s working in the cabana.”

  VANCE STILL LOVES me. Sally followed Vance through the house, out the back, and across the patio. There he stopped, looking out toward the lake. In a boat just offshore, two men in a motorboat were fishing. He lifted his hand to them in a short wave before turning back to Sally. “Good luck, sweetie.”

  After a final kiss, he gave her a slight push and remained where he was. Probably going to make sure she made it to the cabana before retreating out of hearing distance of the battle to come.

  Smart guy. And actually, she was glad. When she and Galen argued, Vance tended to intervene, which wasn’t good if tempers got hot. She’d never forget the men’s fistfight…and all the bruises.

  At least, no matter how angry Galen got, he’d never physically fight with a woman. And he’d said once that he never administered punishments when he was angry. Her ass was safe for the moment—because she intended to piss him the heck off.

  Veering to the right, she headed down the overgrown path to the hidden cabana.

  As she stepped inside, she spotted Galen in the kitchen area, buffing newly placed tiles.

  He saw her. For an instant, his eyes lightened with pleasure, and everything in her surged up with joy.

  A second later, his carved face turned deadly cold. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Feeling as if she’d walked into an ice storm, she looked away as she regathered her courage. A new bondage table sat across the room. Pretty, all dark wood and leather padding. It was the one she’d seen in the catalog. Her jaw set at the thought of them using her equipment with other women. Never.

  And Mr. Grumpy Pants wasn’t going to intimidate her. She set her hands on her hips. “Hiding out?” she asked, her tone frigid enough to match her insides.

  He didn’t even blink. “You were told not to come here. I want you gone. Now.”

  Don’t you just wish, buddy. “I came to talk with you.”

  “No.” He moved toward her, and she had no doubt he’d grab her by the hair to haul her off to her car.

  “Damn you,” she said, not exactly under her breath, and edged behind the bench. “If you won’t talk, you can listen.” You beloved asshole. “This is my home now. You and Vance insisted. Brought all my stuff here. Moved me in. And now, just because there’s danger, you kick me out.”

  His fingers tightened on the buffing cloth as he stalked around the bench. “Because you could be killed.”

  “You didn’t even have the courtesy to talk with me about it. Just—get out, Sally.” Her voice wavered as she remembered the hurt.

  Under the thin white T-shirt, Gal
en’s powerful shoulders were rigid. His angular jaw was tight. “Vance wasn’t gentle with you, Sally, and I’m sorry for that.”

  She had a moment of hope. “That’s all right, but—”

  “Now that I’ve apologized, get your ass back to Gabi’s house.”

  “No.” Hey, if he could use one-word sentences, so could she. Just to drive home the point, she added, “I live here. I’m going to my room.”

  Even as she turned, his brows drew together into a straight black line.

  She got two steps out the door before being yanked back into the cabana. “You will go back to Gabi’s.” His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he gave her a shake. “It’s not safe for you here.”

  “It’s not safe for you either, Mr. Hotshot FBI Agent.” She realized her voice had risen. “I’m not going anywhere unless you do too.”

  “This is my job.”

  “No, dumb-ass, this is where you live!” From the startled look on his face, she must have shouted that. She waved her hand at the room. “Does this look like a downtown office? No, it does not.”

  A muscle danced in his cheek, and his grip on her shoulders turned painful. “Sally, Somerfeld’s brother wants revenge. He’s killed two cops—and their families with them. He—”

  “I know that, Galen. Six people total if you count the woman from the cabin.” She pursed her lips. “Actually, I think he did all the arson jobs. Even though the Association was countrywide, all the arson deaths were concentrated in the northeast area. If you look at the map I made, you’ll—”

  “What map?”

  “Oh, please, do you really think I can’t access any information I want?”

  “Hell, I forgot who I was talking to.” His hands eased slightly. “Then you know—”

  “I know he’s never left the northeast. He’s brilliant but crazier than a hoot owl. I know it’s still not one hundred percent safe.” She curled her fingers around his wrist. “I also know I love you. This is where I belong.”

  “Fuck!” He stalked away from her and punched the wall.

  Seriously? She thought that only happened in movies. He’d actually put a hole in the wall she’d spent so much time painting.

  He punched another hole and turned. “I will not have another woman die because of me. Because of what I do.”

  His anger threatened to flatten her like dry cornstalks in a gale wind. Her back hit the door.

  “You will get your ass out of here, and you will stay away.”

  “Forever?” she whispered. When grief darkened his eyes, she realized this mess had awakened his nightmares…and the idiot planned to push her all the way out of his life. “But you love me.”

  “That. Is. Irrelevant.”

  “That is not irrelevant.” She stomped forward, kicked his toolbox out of her way, and punched him in the chest with all her might. Took satisfaction in the grunt—though ow! Had she broken her thumb? “You’re just scared.”

  He bit back an automatic denial—such a guy—and nodded. “I am. I couldn’t stand to see you hurt.”

  “Instead you’ll rip my heart right out of my chest?” She punched him again and sucked in air against the flash of pain.

  He grabbed her wrist and hauled her closer. “At least you’ll be alive.”

  “If I’m alive, I want to live. I can’t live inside a cocoon, Galen.” She glared up into his eyes. “Do you think you’re the only person who worries about a lover dying? Who had someone they love die? Because of something they did?”

  Shock spread over his face as he realized she was talking about her mother. “Sally…”

  “You can stay inside your cocoon, all wrapped up tight until you shrivel down to nothing.” She opened her palm. “But I want to spread my wings—and love. You worked with me to be sure guilt didn’t rule my life. You need to help yourself now.”

  His jaw stayed tight.

  “I love you so much, you dumb-ass.” She took the last step—and, thanks to him, the words came easily. Yes, she could ask. “Let me stay. Please.”

  “God fucking dammit,” he said under his breath and pulled her into his arms.

  And it felt as if she’d come home.

  After a minute, he said, “But would you just—”

  “No.”

  “Maybe for only—”

  “No.”

  “Vance and I spank submissives who say no to us,” he muttered.

  “Okay.” Because in order to spank her, she had to be right there, within reach. And that was exactly where she intended to stay.

  He pulled her up and kissed her neck before shaking his head. “I love you, but not even you can plant yourself in the middle of an FBI case. You’ll get us fired, pet.”

  Oh. She hadn’t thought of that one. “Maybe getting you fired would be a good thing.” Jeez, maybe it was.

  “I’d rather it be my decision, thanks,” he said in a dry voice. “So, we’ll talk for a bit. But if NYPD hasn’t picked up Somerfeld in the next hour, you’re going back to safety.”

  She eyed him. No, he wouldn’t give way on this, but the unreasonableness was gone. He wasn’t operating out of old fears, but logic. And she could live with that. “It’s a deal.”

  FROM THE BACK door, Vance listened. He and Galen had installed excellent soundproofing in the cabana—he’d barely been able to hear the yelling.

  And now nothing.

  Hopefully, they were fucking up a storm. Makeup sex. He grinned as he started to harden. With luck they’d get a call in a minute or two that New York had Somerfeld in custody. If so, a victory fuck would be in order.

  If NYPD didn’t call, the imp’s time would be up. He’d have to drag Sally out and stuff her in her car.

  Meantime—he snorted—he was guard dog.

  His cell chimed, reminding him to make the scheduled check-in call. Vance hit the number for the office. “Still alive. How are the guys doing out by the turnoff?”

  “They’re just fine, Vance.” Hazel was around seventy and undoubtedly had won Mother of the Year when her children were young. “How is your back?”

  “All healed. I’m going stir-crazy, being shut in.”

  She sniffed, unimpressed, as if he’d whined about a snow day. “You just settle down. And tell that boy to be careful as well.”

  Choking on a laugh, he assured her that he’d tell the boy. If Galen heard that… Then again, his partner adored the old woman. Fuck knew, she acted more like a mother than Galen’s real one.

  A few minutes later, his cell rang. The stakeout team reported an elderly woman had taken the lakeshore drive. One of the neighbors.

  To stave off the urge to go to Galen and Sally, he went out the front. They hadn’t checked the mail earlier. After pulling on a coat to cover his shoulder holster, he walked onto the front porch. Nothing. Couldn’t even see the neighbor’s houses through the dense surrounding growth. No cars. No people. All quiet.

  He glanced at his watch. Somerfeld, do your airport check-in. I want this over.

  His skin felt as if the air was filled with sand. Nerves.

  It was a nice day; he should make an effort to enjoy it. As he ambled to the mailbox at the end of their U-shaped drive, he watched the brilliantly white puffy clouds float across the sky. No thunderclouds…yet. Chances were good they’d appear later in the day. The summer rainstorms had started up.

  As he unlocked the metal mailbox, he grinned at the memory of Sally’s insults about paranoid Feds. He pulled out a nice haul of letters and flyers.

  A car appeared, slowly moving down the road. The gray-haired driver gave him a wide smile. It was his nearest neighbor, Mrs. Childress.

  He stepped over to the car and glanced in the backseat—just in case. “Ma’am, how are you today?”

  “I’m fine, dear. I was going to call you later. How nice to see you in person. We’re having a small barbecue next week on Saturday. I hope you and Galen and Sally will come.” The elderly couple had met Sally when she was on the lake, fishing with
Galen. Like everyone else, they’d fallen for the imp.

  “We’d be delighted.” Somerfeld had damn well better be safely behind bars by then.

  “Wonderful. Around four.” With a sweet smile, the old lady put her car in gear and continued down the road.

  Vance strolled back to the house. Before he’d opened the front door more than a crack, Glock darted out onto the porch.

  “Have a good day, buddy.” Must be pretty urgent feline business. Flipping through the junk mail, Vance stepped inside…and the world fell in on him.

  * * * *

  Why was he lying on his side on the floor? Vance wondered. Hangover? Hell, his head felt like an overinflated balloon, ready to pop.

  His jaw clenched as memories trickled back in a slow returning tide. Mailbox. Cat. Letter. Nothing. Something was really wrong.

  His heart sped up, increasing the throbbing inside his skull. Swallowing, he fought nausea silently. Blocked his urge to call for help. Didn’t move, didn’t groan, didn’t touch his head. With his eyes opened only a slit, he tried to assess, even while cursing the slowness of his brain. His thoughts moved hopelessly slow, like bubbles fighting to rise through a thick swamp.

  He recognized the game room flooring. God knew, he’d spent enough time putting it in.

  He listened, hearing nothing except the painful roaring in his head.

  Fingers felt numb. Ah, fuck, his wrists were cuffed behind him.

  Dread burst inside him at the sight of the heavy iron shackles on his ankles. Shackles. The chain connecting the shackles was looped around a two-by-four—part of the built-out bar Galen was constructing in a corner of the room.

  The ugly realization worked through the murk in Vance’s head. Jesus fuck, he’d screwed up.

  Somerfeld wasn’t in New York; he was here. But how the fuck had he gotten past the stakeout teams?

  Please, don’t fucking let Sally or Galen walk in unknowingly.

  Footsteps. In his narrow field of vision, he spotted the legs entering the room. A five-gallon container of gasoline was set down. The bastard was consistent, wasn’t he?

  Vance felt his stomach clench. Burning was dead last on his list of ways to die.