Criminal Promises

by Nikki Duncan

  His strength seeped into her. Something bigger was coming, but she’d take a few more moments of peace. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To take a bath.”

  Her eyes popped open. “H—”

  “By yourself. You need to relax and forget about everything for awhile longer.”

  He stepped into her bathroom. Her mouth gaped at the scene he’d set. Lit pink and white candles lined her vanity and the sauna tub she so rarely got to use. The room smelled of her two favorite scents—vanilla and roses. The tub was full and the book she’d been reading in his room waited on the edge, beckoning her with promises of relaxation.

  “You don’t fight fair.”

  “This isn’t a battle, Mags.”

  Maybe not, but they would have one before much longer. He sat her on her feet and walked over to her iPod dock. When he pushed play, the soulful melodies of Hans Zimmer floated into the room, bringing to mind an almost irresistible image.

  Harte would pick her up and carry her to the high part of the vanity, and gently put her down. After a lingering, tender kiss, an exploration into the recesses of her mouth, he would lower to his knees and remove her shoes. Holding her gaze, his hands would travel up her legs and he’d unbutton her slacks before she’d lift up so he could slide her pants over her hips and down, until she sat before him in her blouse and panties.

  Slowly, with passion darkening his eyes and the most tender of touches he would run his hands up her legs until he stood before her. His long, strong fingers would glide over her hips to the hem of her shirt and then over her sides as he eased it up her body and over her head.

  Sitting before him in nothing more than her bra and thong, never breaking eye contact, she’d move her hands over his hard, rippling chest. The soft dusting of hair tickling her palms as she followed the narrowing trail down his stomach to the waist of his pants. She’d dip her fingers into the elastic and push them down.

  “…be right back.”

  “What?” Maggie jerked herself away from her thoughts and looked at Harte. What had she missed? Fire raged through her veins, her system revved from the intensely intimate fantasy. A fantasy she really wanted to embrace, if only she thought she could handle it.

  Swallowing the desire, hoping like hell she sounded fairly intelligent, she stepped forward. “Harte…”

  He took her face in his big warm hands and smiled. “You need this.”

  “I…”

  Cutting off any argument, he grasped her waist, lifted her off the floor and carried her to the vanity before he knelt and pulled her shoes and socks off.

  Sucking in a breath, she waited.

  Would he kiss her? Would her fantasy turn into reality? She wanted it to, but if it did, if he touched her as she’d pictured, if he kissed her, control would soar out the window. She’d lose her soul to him.

  He sat her shoes neatly beside the vanity, stood and grabbed her waist to help her stand again. Disorientation and dizziness slammed into her before she realized she held air trapped in her lungs.

  Keeping her gaze steady on his, she slowly exhaled and became aware of her tingling skin and damp panties. She didn’t have a chance of holding out against any move he made. And while she wanted him to devour her, wanted to devour him in return, she needed him to go away.

  She couldn’t think with him so close, smelling spicy and hot with his half-naked, muscled body close enough to touch.

  “You’re too tense. Relax.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and left the bathroom.

  What? She’d missed something. She just couldn’t think of what it might be, not that it mattered. He’d left. She had space, except his scent lingered. She gave in to her shaking knees and leaned against the counter. She’d thought for a second she would be lucky enough to have her fantasy. Her naked and sweaty fantasy.

  “Snap out of it.” Slapping her hands against her heated cheeks cleared her mind. A little. Enough that she could get undressed for her bath. Sex, no matter how tempting, wasn’t happening.

  She would take the opportunity he’d presented and enjoy the soft music, scented candles, and a long bath. Anything else would wait. Easing another button free, she assured herself she shouldn’t feel guilty for anticipating the pleasure of no interruptions while she indulged in her own slice of Paradise.

  “Oh hell.”

  With her fingers releasing the next button, she glanced up. Harte stood in the doorway with flames of awareness that sliced through her and relit the fire she’d barely begun to extinguish ablaze in his gaze.

  Following his eyes, she looked down at her shirt gaping open to her belly button and the fire red, lace bra that echoed her thoughts.

  Come and get me.

  BD’s eyes popped wide. The gentle swell of Maggie’s breasts peeking over the take-me red bra begged for his touch. Her rigid nipples standing at attention pleaded for his mouth to suck on them, taste their honey. He nearly swallowed his tongue and barely withstood the desire to tip back the bottle of wine he held and chug it.

  “Do you need something?” Her sultry whisper and the sight of the flush blooming over her flawless skin had the remaining blood in his head rushing south.

  To spread you across the vanity and sample you like a buffet. To know if your panties are a thong matching your bra.

  He lifted the wine and a glass. “I brought you this. I said I’d be right back.” Why the hell did you start undressing?

  “You… I…” She drew her lips together with a soft sucking sound, sealing her luscious mouth closed.

  Her shirt still hung open. The pain of his swelling dick reminded him he was close to crossing a line he couldn’t step back from. Don’t go there.

  “I’ll just…” Get the hell out. Now! He sat the wine on the counter and stepped back, pointing over his shoulder to the door. “Um… I’ll…”

  He backed toward the door. She stepped forward, tongue poking between the corner of her lips. The urge to bury himself in her, to lose himself in the pleasure without thought of the consequences sizzled in his veins. The job comes first. Involvement is dangerous.

  Like a spineless coward, he moved fast across the house. The more distance he put between him and her, the less likely he was to find out how perfectly her breasts would fit in his hands. He started to detour to the kitchen for a beer, but under the circumstances one would lead to two…he needed a clear head. Not that the image of rose petal soft skin and red lace indelibly lodged in his brain made clarity an immediate possibility. Or a distant one.

  He walked the house, searched the living room bookshelves for anything of potential interest for Adalia, and checked all the locks before getting his laptop from the kitchen and going back to his room.

  All the while his skin vibrated with the knowledge of Maggie submerged in warm, frothy water. Naked.

  Pinching his nose did nothing to ease the pressure of the images pushing against his mind or make focusing on work easier.

  Pulling a metal box from beneath his bed, he took out copies of Adalia’s files and the notes she’d left at each scene. Something tied the murders and Maggie together. More accurately something tied the previous murders and whatever papers Mike had had together. The clue had to be in the notes.

  Pen and paper in hand, he spread the notes out on the floor in the order they’d been left and began analyzing them. Separately, together or shifted around, he would find whatever answer they held. He would discover the links.

  Alicia Daniels, victim one. BD jotted notes on the pad. She’d been an investment adviser. Known as a young shark in a competitive business. Several people in her field had fought for her client list after her death. Her note had been left in an open wall safe.

  “Venerated among Greek Gods, they knew true power.”

  It stood to reason Adalia had taken money or bonds from the safe. Nothing had turned up to prove the theory, but she’d have money stashed.

  Victim number two was found a week later. A retired cartographer, Bren
t Porter had led a solitary life since his wife’s passing a few months before his murder. The note had been pinned to his naked, half-mutilated body like a nametag.

  “They hid the black conductor, but the guardian will not keep it from me.”

  Presumably, they referred to whomever Adalia spoke of in her first note. The trouble was knowing who they were and what the black conductor was. The guardian part was obvious. Someone was protecting whatever she wanted. Maybe that’s how she chose her victims. Maybe they all had something to do with the conductor she was after.

  An archeology professor at the University of Texas at Dallas had been the third victim. Simon Hodges, an intellectual, bow-tie type who’d reportedly buried himself in books when he wasn’t at dig sites.

  “Burdensome buried relics live through history. I know who has the answers.”

  Professor at UT. He should have seen it before. That had to be where the connection to Mike began. The men had taught at the same school. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to believe they would collaborate on something like ancient papers. Some relics were believed to have powers, control curses or a ton of other nonsense. Burying them wouldn’t erase their legends or histories, but it could vanish or diminish the power.

  If Adalia was after an actual relic, was it for a power she thought was hidden or something else entirely? Money?

  There had been no note for Mike’s death, so they had thought the connection was more personal. Without him, the other notes hadn’t made sense. Now, taking them all in a new context, there had to be a common tie to whatever ancient papers Mike had seemingly been translating. Discovery was their only hope to learning why Adalia wanted the papers.

  But why Michelle Dane? She hadn’t been at the university while Mike was there, which meant she wouldn’t likely know about the papers.

  BD pulled out crime scene photos of each victim and placed them above the notes side-by-side.

  Michelle Dane’s photo sat beside the archeology professor. They had both worked at UT, had collaborated on a few projects, but there was another connection.

  “No way.” He flipped through her file and skimmed notes from interviews before he grabbed his phone and dialed. Craig picked up on the second ring.

  “Yeah.”

  “Michelle Dane. What do we know about her family history?”

  Craig sighed, clearly holding back an announcement of what time it was. “She was an only child. Adopted. Never married.”

  “We need to confirm it,” BD tapped the two pictures holding his interest. “But I’m pretty sure I just found her bioligical father.”

  He wrapped up with Craig and made more notes on his pad. It couldn’t be coincidental that she’d been in the same field as her birth father, worked at the same university, and had been killed by the same woman.

  “You’ll not stop me this time, but you can have a chance to save those under your protection. Your failure will result in mass destruction.”

  The note left on Michelle Dane had been directed at BD and Craig and had served as a threat to Maggie, though she’d been targeted more because of her connection to the late archeologist and by extension Mike.

  Studying the latest notes, BD looked for more links.

  “The cops will not get in the middle again. I’ll have the key to harnessing the power.”

  “Mike paid for turning me in. Don’t try to outsmart me. Get me the papers or die.”

  Out of context they seemed as random as the murder victims, which now seemed anything but random. The underlying tone in the notes dealt with history. Each victim had been a specialist in their field. Mike Sullivan had been an ancient languages expert and a seemingly upstanding guy. The only one who didn’t fit with ancient papers was the investment broker.

  Opening his laptop, BD pulled up Google and tried different search parameters hoping to whittle away at the endless possibilities. Once they figured out what the papers were about they could set a trap. And he’d make sure they snared Adalia’s accomplice too.

  When the pages blurred, BD rubbed his hands over his face. Whoever said being a cop was exciting didn’t realize how tedious and mind-numbing it could be, though not numbing enough to fully dislodge the persistent impressions Maggie left in her wake.

  Even now, her scent invaded his thoughts, made him remember her taste and revived the hum of arousal he’d been battling since moving in. If things went too far, and they easily could, she would own his soul.

  He couldn’t risk Maggie because of lust and stupidity. Her children would not be made orphans. Another woman would not die because of him.

  “You’re going to be stooped over like an old man if you spend much more time on the floor hunched over papers and your laptop.”

  He jerked and spun to face Maggie. His mind whirled with possible ways of keeping her from seeing the content of the papers all around, yet a quick look at her and thoughts of papers vanished. She was a sucker punch to the groin.

  Standing just outside his door, looking firmly in control again, she wore a neon blue, satin tank top that hugged the curves of her unbound breasts. Form-fitting workout shorts not much bigger than the boy-short style underwear some women wore drew his attention to her legs. He wondered which thong she had on under the shorts. Unless she didn’t have any on.

  His cock saluted the commando idea.

  Damn it. Where were the baggy pajama pants she’d worn last night? Her current get up made it all too easy to recall the softness of her shape beneath him. Her hair hung, unbraided, almost to her waist in magnificent damp waves. Some of the wetness had moistened her top and now showcased stiff nipples.

  With Herculean effort, he casually began gathering the notes. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.” She leaned against the door and crossed her arms over the bright top, pushing her breasts up until their swells peeked out. Humor curled her lip subtly, just as Sam’s had done when she watched him work.

  The base of his back itched with memories and stirring desires. He looked back to the floor and papers. “Right.”

  The home and family he’d always wanted had been his for a few brief months. Now, he had to remember it was gone. Maggie wasn’t a replacement. He wouldn’t take chances again. The price was unaffordable.

  “Have you had any luck figuring out what Adalia’s after?”

  BD evaluated his options of how much to tell her, and how to break his latest news. Picking up the papers and laptop, he moved to his desk. “Still working on it.”

  “Are the papers you’re hiding helping?”

  Damn woman was too perceptive. “Not really.”

  “So, nothing new.” She walked over and sat on the end of the bed. “What do we do now?”

  He averted his eyes from her lean legs as he turned the chair and straddled it. She pulled her legs up to sit Indian style. The sinew of her slender thighs flexed slightly. He lost track of the conversation. Just how flexible was she? How adventurous would she be in bed?

  “Harte.”

  He blinked and forced his mind back to a safer path. “Yeah?”

  “What happens next? Do you have any idea how you’re going to catch her?”

  “We have some leads. Until we…validate them—”

  “They mean nothing.”

  The pulse pounded against the tender skin of her neck. From fear? Arousal? “You don’t want to know the things I know about Adalia. I wouldn’t tell you if you did.”

  Maggie closed her eyes and took a few steady breaths before looking at him again. “When are you going to tell me anything?”

  The woman’s control astounded him. Considering the mental hits she’d taken, she was holding up really well. And she’d voluntarily sent her kids away. That couldn’t have been easy.

  “Consider it need to know.” The less she knew the better. He’d never talk to anyone other than Craig about the details of the job again. As for Maggie, he wanted to shelter her from the pain of knowing her husband may have been connected to Adalia.
>
  Feeling like a caged animal, BD lurched off the chair and paced the room. Craig had a freakish control that kept him cool-headed at all times. BD couldn’t make such a claim. Another reason he was the wrong guy to be guarding her. First thing in the morning he was switching places with Craig.

  “Harte, sit.”

  Quirking a brow, he slowly pivoted on his heel. She had not just commanded him like she might a dog. “Excuse me?”

  “Sit.” Oooh, the I’m-a-mother-and-will-be-obeyed-tone grated. She’d found an exposed nerve and was virtually digging her finger in it. Obeying her order was the last thing he would do.

  He watched her and crossed his arms. “You sound amazingly as if you’re commanding a mutt.”

  “No.” Maggie straightened her spine so stiff she could have passed for an aristocrat thumbing her nose at him. “More like a stubborn man who thinks he’s doing me a favor by not telling me what he knows.”

  “Mags…”

  “Don’t ‘Mags’ me.”

  He clenched his jaw and breathed slowly, trying to see past the red haze in front of him. He stalked toward the end of the bed, bearing down on her.

  She fell backward, bracing herself on her elbows. Her legs dropped off the bed, but her gaze never wavered. “I want answers. It was one thing to keep secrets before Adalia walked into my home. Before uprooting my kids became a necessity. Before my home was vandalized and bugged. I deserve to know what’s going on.”

  BD stood between her slightly spread legs, crossed his arms behind his back, and bending at the waist, leaned in. “You don’t want the answers I have.”

  “You’re not doing me any favors by keeping secrets.” Her sexy voice carried as much power and conviction as if she’d been standing toe-to-toe with him.