by Cherry Adair
Cupping the back of her head, he tangled his fingers through her hair. His lips were firm and smooth as he learned the shape and taste of hers, taking his time. Kendall opened her mouth to his, leisurely never felt so good. He tasted a little like the cinnamon cookie he’d eaten earlier as he swept his agile tongue against hers.
God, the man knew how to kiss.
Eyes closed, she curled her arms around his neck, then stood on her toes for better access to his mouth so she could deepen the kiss. At five-nine, she wasn’t used to a man towering over her. His large hands moved down to cup her butt, drawing her even more tightly against him.
Kendall hummed her pleasure.
He deepened the kiss and for a few, blissful moments she forgot who he was and why he was here in the first place.
She felt the flexing of his muscles before he lifted his head. “Rain check?” Pupils dilated, he rubbed his slightly rough thumb across her damp bottom lip.
Kendall blinked away the sensual haze. “Right.” She dropped her arms and took a step back.
“You have time for a shower, it’ll unknot those muscles, and warm up your core. Dress in layers."
“In other words, be ready at a moment’s notice?”
“Yeah.” Joe lifted a curl of her hair from the front of her sweater and brought it to his nose. "They should bottle this smell.”
She smiled. “They do, it’s my shampoo.”
“I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t smell this great on anyone else. I'm going to the attic to set up the live surveillance feed from up there," he said, not missing a beat.
Kendall was more than a little tempted to ask if he would come into the bathroom while she showered so she wouldn’t be alone. But that would be turning her power over to Treadwell on a silver platter and she refused to do that. She’d worked too hard – come too far to do that again.
God help her, she imagined Joe Zorn buck naked under the spray with her, which warmed her clear through.
Her emotions were all over the place. She had to focus and get her brain in gear. After he left her room, she tried her phone and was surprised to find an open line. She quickly speed-dialed Becky, her partner at Fait Accompli, who’d be at home in Seattle at this time of night.
"Call him your early Christmas present," Becky told her as soon as Kendall let her know Joe was with her. She only had two bars and the phone was crackly. Becky’s voice faded in and out every time Kendall moved her head. "I’ve been -ing to call you since- cops called- this -rning at the crack of," Becky continued. "I even tried to book a flight out there to come and -ind you myself. Damn it. You scared the crap out of me w- -dn’t reach -ou."
Kendall wasn’t feeling too sanguine herself. Both body and brain were on sensory overload. She walked over to the window to see if the reception was any better. Worse. She crossed the room to sit on the slipper chair at the dressing table.
"My friend Rick r -mended T-FLAC wh- -lled -ell Tre- escaped," Rebecca told her. Kendall turned her head slightly for better reception.
“How do you know a counterterrorist operative?”
“. . .ister dated him years ago. Remember that hunky blond guy s--” The rest of her words were lost. Kendall vaguely remembered Becky’s sister’s ex-boyfriend.
"The manhunt," Becky’s voice was suddenly shockingly clear. "Roadblocks yada, yada, yada are all over the news here. Despite the weather up your way, he’s getting past all these damn people hunting for him.
A chill pebbled Kendall’s skin.
“Every time that monster ditches a car, and hijacks another one, he kills someone. The press has been Johnny-on-the-spot with the lurid details. I hate to scare you even more, sweetie, but at last count he’s killed seven people today. Trust this Joe guy with your life, Ken. Rick swears he's the best operative there is, and he'll guard you with his life."
Kendall let out a little murmur of panic. She hadn’t known about the new killings, but she bet Joe had. She swallowed down nausea.
Sound calm. Be calm.
"The house is locked up like Fort Knox, and Joe has the biggest gun I’ve ever seen." There were a lot of other very big things about Joe Zorn. Fantasizing about him beat to hell being scared out of her mind. Besides, if Treadwell, in the unlikely event, and God forbid reached her, she owed it to herself to live life with joy as long as she could.
She'd decided in those first days after his awful, awful attack, life and death and all the degrees between were too unpredictable not to take the joy. Claim the good, as often as she could.
If tomorrow never came, she’d have the today she wanted – by her rules.
By her desires. By her wants and needs -no one else’s.
"Don’t let the guy with the big gun out of your sight," Becky warned unnecessarily. "On the plus side, if the local cops can’t get to you, neither can Sick Bastard. But be careful until they have him in custody. Denise and I have already talked. I've cancelled the caterers, band and waitstaff. She's already taken care of the guests. The roads are closed. Even the plows can't go out in that weather. And if they can't, Sick Bastard won't be on the roads either."
"It would've been a nice commission."
"I don’t give a damn about the commission," her friend said fiercely. "I just want you safe. I’m glad this Joe guy’s there with you so you aren’t alone. Let him stick to you like glue until Treadwell is back in chains. Is back in a cage. Is somewhere far, far away from you. Promise me."
"Believe me," Kendall said dryly. "That’s an easy promise to make." Joe had proved just how easily someone could take her gun away from her. So much for her false sense of confidence in her ability to protect herself.
“God, Beck, what if he wasn’t here? What if I’d had no warning at all?"
“Well he is, and you are aware. They’re going to catch him, and this damn time they’ll lock him up and throw away the freaking key. And then you can stop living like a cloistered nun, and have your old life back.”
Kendall didn’t remember her old life. She no longer saw herself growing old after her ordeal. She didn’t dare. Doing so, might create more fear for her to cope with. She believed she could die at any time and understood that reality intimately. She knew her own mortality and would carry that with her for the rest of her life. She'd never allowed herself to imagine herself sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, knitting or holding hands with a wonderful man, grandchildren scurrying around the yard.
She no longer dared hope for it- because Treadwell had taken away that dream, and it was too painful when trying to reconcile it with reality. It was more enjoyable to focus on Joe’s body than it was to fixate on her killer closing in on her. Both thoughts made her blood pressure throb behind her eyeballs.
"I’m not saying I’m not terrified at the prospect of Treadwell showing up, but having Joe—" There was a pause on the other end of the line as her voice trailed off.
"And? But? If? And then?" Becky tried to finish the thought. "If you don’t trust him to keep your ass safe, run like hell, lock him in somewhere, and find a place to hide."
"I trust he'll keep me safe from Treadwell," Kendall assured her. But who's going to keep me safe from Joe Zorn?
SIX
The powerful generator, housed in a fancy stone outbuilding located through the breezeway at the back of the house, had been crushed beyond repair. He and the builders hadn't anticipated this kind of snowfall during construction eleven years ago.
Fuck.
Joe went through the house making sure all the gas fireplaces were on. A six-thousand-square-foot open plan house was a bitch to heat at the best of times. When his ex had jumped at the idea of a log house, Joe had imagined a modest ranch house. But no. Denise had super-sized the damn thing until it was a fucking McMansion- made of logs. A bitch to heat and cool.
A separate generator, in a specially built room in the attic, powered all the security equipment. That was good, but that generator powered only the surveillance equipment. He’d reroute the dedica
ted Christmas lights generator to power some of the electricity in the most used rooms in the house.
A systems check from the attic indicated the fortified roof cameras were fully operational, the monitors inside picking up 360-degree real-time images. A blank wall of white. The motion sensor alarms and cameras would pick up the slightest movement in a mile radius. Exterior window and door alarms were now set for the lightest touch. Nothing larger than a rabbit could come within five thousand feet of the house without Joe receiving an alert on his phone.
Satisfied that no one could get into the house- unless Santa came down the non-working chimney of the gas fireplaces, they were in no danger of Treadwell showing up unannounced.
He headed back downstairs, hoping Kendall was done with her shower, and fully dressed. Including shoes, because he found her pale, naked feet unbearably sexy.
Joe's mind conjured assorted salacious images and improbable scenarios.
The bedroom became marginally brighter with the addition of the lamp he carried. After placing it on the dressing table, he crossed to sit in one of the extra-wide easy chairs flanking the stone-faced gas fireplace.
He liked women. He particularly enjoyed attractive, intelligent women. Kendall Metcalf was both. In spades. So his heightened physical attraction to her didn’t come as a surprise. The woman’s sex appeal was off the charts.
Stretching out his long legs toward the fire, Joe rested his Heckler & Koch double action pistol on the chair arm beside him. He wasn’t a guy who spent a hell of a lot of time contemplating his own navel, but his visceral reaction to her was as intriguing as it was puzzling. He ignored the distraction of picturing a wet, naked, Kendall as he heard the shower running.
Joe tried to pinpoint exactly what he felt when he was with her. The high lust factor was a given. But it was the strange, unfamiliar feeling in his chest that had him mystified.
A. . . flutter? An extra heartbeat? Something wholly alien. He hadn’t felt this way about Denise. Which was probably why, five months after saying their vows, their marriage ended- with a fizzle- in divorce. That had been almost eleven years ago.
Clearly Denise had felt that alien something for Adam Cameron. They had two kids, another on the way, and appeared to be as in love now as they had been when Adam had rushed the ex Mrs. Zorn to the altar three months after the ink was dry on her divorce papers.
Joe was happy for them. He liked them both. He hadn’t been heartbroken at the end of his marriage. He thought he should’ve been, but he wasn’t. Every now and then he wondered, on a purely academic level, exactly what that elusive something factor was that the couple had. He’d never found it for himself.
Denise called it spark, magic and lots of other female words that until a few hours ago, he’d pretty much dismissed as the rantings of a romantic.
Spark was a pretty damned good description for the sensations currently annoying him. Why Kendall Metcalf? Why now? He should be thinking about guns, ammo, close combat, points of entry, instead his mind conjured all sorts of enticing images of his protectee.
Sparks, he decided, were distracting as hell.
Without making a conscious decision, Joe had created this nomadic lifestyle. Well, not created it so much as fallen into it without much objection.
In his experience, nothing good ever came of analyzing one’s choices. He shook his head at musings brought on by flickering firelight and thoughts of a wet, naked Kendall in the other room.
"Get a grip," he told himself firmly.
From his vantage point he could keep an eye on all the doors in the room. He didn’t like sitting here waiting like this. He was a man of action. But Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating. If he had backup he’d go outside and check the perimeter. But he wouldn’t take Kendall out there. No matter how secure the house he wouldn't leave her there alone.
It would suit him perfectly if that son of a bitch Dwight Treadwell did one right thing in his miserable sick life; walked in now. One shot between the bastard’s eyes and it would be over.
Silva had sent Joe the court transcripts along with copies of a dozen newspaper articles which he’d scanned while the ground crew readied the chopper. Hell, was that just a few hours ago?
He’d been sickened by what Kendall had endured at the hands of that psychopath. He’d also felt the ticking of the time bomb, knowing that while he was en route to her, Treadwell was too. At the time Treadwell had kidnapped and tortured Kendall, it was confirmed he’d brutalized, then killed five other women. At his arraignment that number had jumped horrifically to twenty-three.
Kendall was Treadwell’s only living victim, the one person left to identify the son-of-a-bitch in court. Which, according to the transcripts Joe had read, she’d done. Clearly and succinctly, with Treadwell sitting right there in front of her.
Her attention to detail and minutia in her event planning business had served her well. She’d recalled in stark, no-nonsense language details that only one of his victims could possibly know. She’d given a specific and concise physical description of the man. And she’d gone into clinical, precise detail about what she’d endured for almost seventy-two hours at Treadwell’s hands, the reading of which had turned Joe’s stomach.
What she’d suffered, and the retelling of it, had taken unimaginable guts. Joe had a clear picture of what made up the mental characteristic of the serial killer. He’d also understood the subtext in Kendall’s testimony. The Evil Prick had played with her like a cat with a half dead mouse. He’d slashed her deep and he’d slashed her shallow, letting her suffer as he taunted her with death, but kept her alive. Barely.
Treadwell had kept her holed up in a trailer deep in the woods south of Seattle for three days. In all that time, she hadn't known just how fucking close she was to civilization.
Considering the timeline, the slash across her throat must’ve still been raw and livid as she sat in court facing her attacker. The jury had deliberated for all of forty-seven minutes - including a bathroom break -before coming back with a guilty verdict on all counts.
Washington was one of thirty-eight states with the death penalty. But Treadwell’s attorneys had managed to get a sentencing recommendation of life without parole after the verdict in exchange for the killer’s cooperation in finding the bodies of the other twenty-three victims.
Treadwell had received twenty-three consecutive life sentences, plus one concurrent sentence, for the attempted first degree on Kendall and another seventy-five years for her torture. He’d also vowed, before the court, that he would one day find Kendall Metcalf and finish the job he’d started. And the next time she wouldn’t get away.
And yet despite all that, he’d somehow managed to escape while being transported between one facility and another after he'd sliced, diced and fucking killed two inmates a few weeks earlier. Joe suspected soon after Treadwell had read the reports of Kendall's whereabouts.
He'd know he'd be transported to a maximum-security facility. He'd know if he was going to escape it had to be while in transit.
Hell, if it were up to Joe, Treadwell would be drawn and quartered, dropped down a hole and left to rot slowly and painfully. An eye for an eye.
The shower turned off and he glanced up just in time to see, through the partially open door, a flash of pale hip and leg as Kendall reached for a towel.
It was going to be a long night.
Deck the Halls played softly on the emergency radio sitting on the dresser as Kendall emerged from the bathroom, blotting her hair dry. A towel in one hand, and carrying a second lantern in the other. She brought with her the heady fragrance of fresh pears on a cloud of steam.
She looked deliciously touchable with her still damp, pink cheeks, shining eyes and dewy velvety skin. She placed the lantern beside the one on the dresser, and used both hands to blot her hair. The lanterns flickered with her movements. Her feet were still bare, but thank God she was dressed. Jeans and an oversized purple sweater with the words;
Naughty.
/> Nice.
✔ I Tried
He indicated her sweater. "One of your creations?" If you knew how badly I want you, sweetheart, you’d run like hell.
"It is, would you like me to knit a sweater for you?” she asked, sweetly oblivious to how desirable she looked in the golden lamplight. “What color would you like? Blue to match your eyes?"
With the muted glow of the oil lamp, the rumpled bed behind him, and the flicker of the fireplace, the ambiance was a little too romantic and seductive for his peace of mind. Especially now that he knew what she tasted like. "I don't want people reading my chest when I'm on an op."
She smiled as he'd meant her to do. "No words then." The smile slipped from her lips, and she watched him with big, serious eyes. "Will you have sex with me?"
Joe blinked at the non sequitur. "Say what?" He heard her just fine, it was computing the request that was hard to wrap his mind around, since he’d been thinking the same damn thing.
Dusty rose bloomed in her cheeks. "I know we just met, and, believe me, this is a once in a lifetime offer. But I'm feeling my mortality tonight. He's out there and getting closer. I need to at least feel alive for a couple of hours before he shows up."
She was optimistic, hell, he wouldn’t last a couple of minutes if he were inside her right now. "No." It came out a hell of a lot more harshly than he intended. There was no getting away from the fact that he wanted her. God only knew, what man wouldn’t? She was gorgeous, smart, funny and sexy as hell. But he sure as shit wasn't going to act on it. Not tonight anyway.
Dropping down on the foot of the bed, she let out a shaky breath. Her eyes were clear and penetrating as she asked, "Is it the one-night stand aspect? Do the scars repulse you? You're not attracted to me?" she said, all in one breath. "We can do it in the dark. It's just sex, Joe. Not a lifetime commitment."