Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  She deserved her peace, and if he really wanted what was best for her, he’d leave now, so she could begin her search for the desk jockey.

  But the selfish part of him, the part that wanted all of her, couldn’t let it go. It just wasn’t in his nature to give up.

  Yesterday she’d left him, and today she’d climbed out of her hospital bed and disclosed the photos to set him free. In doing so, she’d jeopardised her career. He’d saved her life. And she’d turned around and saved his sorry arse.

  It was the only thing he had to hold onto. That, and the explosive passion that threatened to erupt every time they were in arm’s length of each other.

  He took a deep breath, ran a hand through her silky hair. “How’s your head?”

  She laughed then. Really laughed, and not the false bravado of a moment ago. “My head’s fine, my scalp’s still burning.”

  Her smile gave him the courage to go on.

  “And your heart?”

  She looked flustered all of a sudden, as if she wasn’t sure of the question. “My heart?”

  “Yes. You know that organ that pumps blood and goes soft sometimes?”

  She looked dumbfounded. So much so, that when she went to speak he raised a hand and cut her off. It wasn’t fair to coax a response from her because he was too much of an emotional cripple to admit how he felt.

  He swallowed, his heartbeat a heavy pulse in his chest. God, it was so much easier putting his body on the line than his goddamn heart.

  “I’ve never been comfortable being enslaved by emotions, Ally. Frankly, it scares the crap out of me.”

  He reached for her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm. She shivered, and his body hardened in response. He knew now, she didn’t hate him for his part in Martin’s death. And that had been his greatest fear.

  But it didn’t mean she loved him either.

  “I’ve avoided any emotional ties for ten years. I guess that makes me an emotional coward.”

  Before he could say any more, she reached out and stroked the scar on his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

  “What are you afraid of, Luke?” she asked, searching his face. “Are you afraid you’ll pick the wrong one?”

  She didn’t wait for his answer.

  “Look at the people you have working for you. Look at the solid ties you have with the police force. You know good character, so don’t keep second guessing it. Don’t let one unfaithful woman and a lying informant close down a part of you. Think of everything you’ll miss out on in life.”

  It was a struggle, but Luke kept his hands off her. He stood up and moved to look out the recently repaired door. She knew his deepest fears, could see right into his soul when he hadn’t been able to see it himself.

  She wanted him to live, really live, but she didn’t understand. For him to live that way, he needed her with him.

  He gazed across the street to the partially constructed house where Clements had secluded himself at night. Today, the place was a hive of activity.

  “See that’s it, Ally. You—get me. With you, I can be myself.”

  He turned at her sharp intake of breath. Perched on the edge of the lounge, she was looking at him with such joy he caught his breath. He moved towards her and pulled her gently to her feet. He had to say more, give her more.

  “I’ve been going out of my mind ever since you left the property yesterday.”

  She reached up and caressed his cheek a second time. “You think I’m worried about our fight, after everything that happened today?”

  Luke closed his eyes on the hideous memory. “When I saw that creep with the knife at your throat, Jesus, Ally, I died a thousand deaths. All my training deserted me. I knew if we survived I was never going to let you go. And to hell with your desk jockey.”

  Elation, vast and uncut, welled up inside her at his words. He didn’t want to move on. He wanted a relationship, with her!

  She reached up and stroked her fingers through his silky hair. She needed him to understand what she was about to say. “When I left the property yesterday, I was angry. But more than that, I was scared, not for me, for you. I knew, then, you were the most important person in the world to me. And I’d put you directly in the path of a sociopath. Taking you off the case was my screwed up way of trying to protect you.”

  “Oh, baby.” He wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “I’m big enough and mean enough to take care of myself.”

  She nodded against his chest, felt the brush of his lips in her hair as he rocked her gently, like a child. She could have stayed like that forever, soaking up his warmth, his strength. But after a while, he straightened and set her away from him.

  “Let me look at your throat.” With gentle fingers that shook slightly, Luke untied the scarf and removed the gauze bandage. Then he bent and kissed her throat beside the wound. “The bastard. Shooting him was too quick. Too painless. I’ve never wanted to make a man suffer before.”

  Allegra looked into his eyes, and for an instant glimpsed the hunter in her man. “He’s dead, Luke.”

  She slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest again, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart. “Every time I close my eyes I see his face. I can’t get him out of my head.”

  Without warning, he bent at the waist and scooped her up in his arms. “I know how to get him out of your head.”

  He carried her through to the bedroom and laid her on the bed.

  “You said you have two weeks off. You’re not getting out of this bed for at least one week.”

  Allegra stared up at him, her heart shifting into overdrive. “And how do you propose to keep me here?”

  “Oh no.” He shook his head and pointed to the welt on his cheek. “I’m not going there again anytime soon.”

  He stretched out next to her and kissed her breast through the material of her tee-shirt, sending heat straight to her core.

  She drew in a choppy breath. “You plan on keeping me company, Commander?”

  “You bet.” He pushed up her tee-shirt. “Unless I have to neutralise Redman.”

  She pushed at his chest, looking into his eyes. “What?”

  “You showed Redman that damned photo. He’s seen too much of you.” He pulled aside a cup of her bra and treated her nipple to a long, slow lick.

  “Ohh…” Allegra arched her back, her spine melting. Suddenly, there was no pain, only the anticipation of wild, abandoned pleasure.

  “As I was saying,” he propped himself up on one elbow, grinning as she struggled to bring her breathing under control, “I just might have to kill Redman. How else will he forget what you look like under your power suits?”

  Allegra laughed with delight. “You’re jealous.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  All at once his playful expression turned serious. He bent his head, capturing her mouth in a kiss so tender it made her want to cry. When he lifted his head, she could see the love shining in his eyes.

  “I will never let anyone hurt you again, Ally. I love you, and I need you with me.”

  Allegra reached up and cradled her lover’s face in her hands. Vulnerability didn’t sit easily with Luke Neilson, and she didn’t underestimate what it had taken for him to expose himself this way.

  She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ve waited so long for you Luke, not even sure you were out there. And you’re so much better than anyone I could ever have imagined. I love you. You’re everything I want.”

  As she pledged the words, she knew them to be true. There would never be any other man for her. Only with him could she be truly happy.

  Silent, emotional tears slipped down her face. “And you don’t have to worry, Luke. Your heart is safe with me.”

  This time his lips claimed hers with a raw possessiveness that stole her breath. It held all the promise of a strong and exciting lover and the security of a safe and steadfast partner.

  Of one thing Allegra was certain.
Life with Luke Neilson would never be dull.

  A long time later—in the dark.

  “You should know, counsellor, as a former military man, I like things official.”

  She smiled in the dark, thrilled by his ‘unofficial proposal’. “That’s a yes, Commander.”

  The long, slow strokes on her back made her want to close her eyes and purr.

  “Tell me one thing.”

  “Umm?”

  “Which photograph did you show Redman?”

  Allegra smiled again. “That’s for me and Redman to know.”

  A groan. “When can I see the others?”

  “You’re obsessed with those photographs as well.”

  Warm lips nuzzled her neck. “Can you blame me?”

  “I’ll give you one each year, on our anniversary. That should keep you happy for fifteen years at least.”

  “Then the sooner we make things official, the better.”

  “I might have some more taken,” she teased, “so we can continue the tradition forever.”

  A growl in the dark as he claimed her mouth with the familiar hot, drugging kiss she’d come to crave. She kissed him back, with everything she had and everything she was.

  They had a lifetime together. Would one lifetime be enough?

  THE END

  In Safe Arms

  Lee Christine

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my critique partner, Linda Hills, for her tireless and valuable contribution over the last three years.

  I would also like to thank the authors in my on-line loop, Helen Lacey, Jane Beckenham, Patti Shenberger, Kelli Finger and Lesley Millar for their advice and support, especially in the early years.

  Thanks also to my mega talented friend, Jaye Ford, for being such an inspiration and for asking me to take part in her writing group.

  To Paula and Kerrie, my readers, a big thank you for your input and enthusiasm.

  And lastly, to my amazing family, Damian, Danielle and Adam, for their constant love, support and encouragement. You guys rock!

  For my special mum, Bonnie

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 1

  9:30 p.m. Sunday

  Hidden in a darkened recess at the rear of the tattoo parlour, Nate Hunter studied the garden variety flatland lock. ‘More light, Kennett.’

  Mitch Kennett adjusted the angle of the torch, a stench of garlic on his breath, nervous eyes scanning the alleyway. ‘Get a move on, Bolt.’

  Nate pulled his tools from the back pocket of his pants and addressed the lock, holding his breath against the bikie’s sour body odour. He slid the pick into the keyway then gradually withdrew it, using sound and touch to visualise what was happening inside the mechanism. He inserted the pick a second time, sliding it over the pins and applying just enough torque with the wrench until one by one the pins set at the sheer line. Then, with a gentle flick of his wrist, he opened the lock.

  ‘There she goes.’ Nate glanced at the president of Sydney’s legendary motorcycle gang, the Altar Boys. ‘Sweet as a woman coming.’ He shoved the tools back in his pocket and retrieved the can of petrol he’d left on the ground. ‘Patience and a deft touch never fail.’

  ‘You’d know.’ A leering smirk split Kennett’s ruthless face as Nate followed his hulking frame into a dreary looking kitchen, decades past its prime. On the bench, an autoclave steriliser stood beside a microwave oven, while surgical gloves, ink and needles lay in a cluttered heap around the sink. Startled by the torchlight, cockroaches scuttled from an open food container left in the centre of an old laminated table.

  Nate swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t imagine going anywhere near those needles, let alone eating in a room like this. The quicker they torched this dump, the better.

  With a growing sense of unease, he watched Kennett set the Maglite down and take a pistol from inside his vest. ‘What’s with the piece, man?’

  The bikie put an index finger to his lips and cocked his head towards the front of the property.

  Muted voices filtered down the hallway.

  ‘No-one’s supposed to be here,’ Nate hissed, a cold sweat breaking out on his body. Ignoring the revolver, he pushed the heavy fuel container into Kennett’s chest, forcing him back against the cupboards. Nate wasn’t a small guy, but Kennett was a tower of granite, built like a world champion wrestler, and it took all of Nate’s strength to keep him there.

  Kennett’s eyes turned to hard little marbles at the blatant challenge to his authority. ‘Mulvaney’s in there. You got a problem with that, pretty boy?’

  Nate had a problem with a lot of things, the escalation of Sydney’s bikie war first and foremost. Only last week, Mulvaney’s gang, the Southern Cross, had peppered the Altar Boys’ clubhouse with bullets and beat three of their members senseless.

  Kennett leaned closer, gold tooth glinting from behind a full grey beard. ‘You want your vest or not?’

  Nate’s gut tightened, his mind filled with a dissonance he couldn’t reduce in any way, shape or form. He’d waited so long to be offered this upgrade in status, this progression, from nominee to fully fledged member of the brotherhood. And he shouldn’t be surprised Kennett had planned this operation knowing Lizard Mulvaney would be on the premises. It was part of the Altar Boys’ culture to use retaliatory strikes as initiations into the inner sanctum.

  He’d supported Kennett’s idea to torch the tat parlour, owned and operated by the Southern Cross, but now he wasn’t so sure. The president of the rival gang wasn’t supposed to be here.

  Fuck!

  No-one was supposed to be here.

  But he was out of time. Kennett was waiting for his answer.

  Nate took a step back and pulled the container off Kennett’s chest. ‘I want the vest.’

  The chapter leader sneered and pushed past him, light on his feet for a big man, leaving Nate no option but to turn and follow him out of the kitchen.

  Moving with stealth for men over six feet, they inched their way down a dim, central corridor, walls covered in a floor to ceiling collage of photographed body parts, complete with designer tattoos.

  Stomach churning, Nate sucked in stale air, heavy with dust particles and strained to hear over the tribal beat of his heart. He picked up the words “search” and “it wasn’t hard”, Mulvaney’s voice transmitting into the hallway from behind a scratched wooden door.

  There was a pause in the conversation, and Kennett froze, listening.

  Mulvaney’s companion spoke, voice a quiet hum.

  As was expected of a nominee, Nate looked to Kennett for direction, nodding his understanding when the leader of the Altar Boys raised two fingers. It was unspoken bikie law that Kennett would take out the rival leader, leaving Nate to shut down the second person in the room.

  Hard as it was to follow direction from a man he loathed, Nate tightened his grip on the plastic container. One well-timed swing and he’d lay Mulvaney’s guest out cold.

  Kennett raised a fist, kissed the brass knuckleduster on his finger and threw open the door.

  Light spilled into the c
orridor from a single, exposed bulb in the middle of the ceiling, and over Kennett’s shoulder, Nate could see Lizard Mulvaney sitting at a desk, his back to them. Startled, the man turned at the sudden commotion, half rising from his chair.

  But they didn’t call Kennett “the viper” for nothing. Two long strides and he immobilised Mulvaney with his signature headlock, revolver rammed into the hollow of his throat.

  Poised for an attack, Nate slipped into the room behind Kennett. He scanned the space in seconds, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades.

  Mulvaney was alone!

  Tightening his grip on the fuel, Nate checked every corner of the run down office, but the room was empty, the door through which they’d come the single point of entry.

  A chair crashed to the floor beside him, Mulvaney’s booted heels scuffing the worn out carpet as Kennett hauled him backwards.

  And then above the din, a woman screamed, the sound oddly electronic, as if coming from a distance.

  And suddenly everything made sense.

  Nate turned his head and stared at the computer monitor.

  From the open Skype program, a woman watched in horror, eyes stricken, fingers pressed against her mouth.

  Skirting around Mulvaney’s thrashing legs, Nate zeroed in on the computer. The woman’s eyes widened and she jerked backwards, as if he could somehow reach across the digital divide and physically grab her.

  Mulvaney was making gurgling sounds low in his throat, and the woman tore her gaze from Nate to focus on what was happening at the back of the room.

  Nate swung around, the same instant Kennett crushed Mulvaney’s windpipe in a sickening crunch of bone and soft tissue.

  The bikie leader turned his back to the computer in an obvious effort to hide his identity, and lowered Mulvaney’s dead body to the floor. ‘Find her, and shut her up.’

  Nate let the container slip from his fingers and turned to face the woman. She lowered her hand, and in the moment before she killed the connection, Nate glimpsed her face.