Situation: Out of Control/Full Exposure

by Debra Webb

  He kissed her lips lightly, the same way one tasted wine. A single sip, but with a thoroughness and concentration that involved all five senses. "I woke up dreaming of you," he murmured, each word punctuated with another tender meeting of lips. His hands skimmed her body, leaving a path of fiery sensations wherever he touched. "And here you are."

  His words only added to the urgency and it would not be denied any longer. Giving him one last kiss, she shifted her weight to her knees and reached down to guide him to just the right spot. He watched her, the fierce need in his eyes emboldening her all the more. She sank slowly, until her body sealed completely against his and they cried out together. Long moments passed before she could move. Her body pulsed with the sensation of being filled so completely by Heath. Heath Murphy. She never wanted to forget his name, his face…or the way he made her feel. She felt his fingers tighten on her thighs as he struggled to do as she'd ordered. She was in charge. He wasn't to move.

  When her senses had recovered from the overload of pleasure the deliciously deep penetration had wrought, she began to move, undulating her hips in that age-old rhythm that came as naturally as breathing.

  She wouldn't be able to hold out long. The drag of her soft, swollen flesh along that generous, hard length quickly took her to the very edge of climax. She fought it with every ounce of determination she possessed, wanted to hold out, to make him writhe beneath her as she had beneath him last night. She wanted him to beg for her to hurry…to plead for mercy. But release came before she could slow its desperate rush. The sounds of her pleasure burst from her throat as spasm after spasm gripped her. She wanted to curl up against him and revel in the cascading sensations that followed. She refused. Kept moving at that slow, steady pace though her heart thundered and her body shuddered with the aftereffects of release.

  He groaned deep in his throat. With monumental effort her eyes opened to watch. His fingers gripped her thighs to the point of pain and his body trembled and shuddered as hers had.

  Her name came from his lips in a savage gasp.

  She knew what he wanted, but she didn't give in. Slow, back and forth, over and over. Her skin slickened with sweat, as did his. She could feel him throbbing inside her, his control almost gone. Like her, he resisted, wanted to make it last for as long as possible.

  She panted, unable to drag oxygen into her lungs fast enough. It was all she could do to keep this unhurried pace. She wanted to…oh…she felt herself coming again.

  Too soon.

  She squeezed her fingers into fists. No. Not yet.

  He murmured something inaudible. Tried to urge her into a faster rhythm with his hands but she refused to surrender.

  Color flared behind her closed lids. Every muscle in her body contracted, then shuddered as the ultimate moment of pure physical gratification shivered through her, starting at her center and moving outward like the shockwaves of an explosion.

  She couldn't move anymore…the intense pleasure was too overwhelming. Heath pulled her down to his chest and rolled her onto her back. He withdrew to the very tip and thrust deep, driving into her with such force that she lost her breath…couldn't think, couldn't speak. He pumped harder and faster until his own release roared through him.

  He thrust again and again, slower this time, allowing the final waves to wash over them, melting every muscle.

  Their breathing ragged, they collapsed together, a tangle of trembling arms and legs.

  She traced a path on his chest, unable to look him in the eye just yet. "That was like climbing to the very top of the highest, most rugged peak you can find for the first time."

  He lifted her chin and smiled down at her. "No." He shook his head. "It was better."

  Those three words took her breath away all over again. He kissed her before she could recover. Any possibility of resistance, of going on with her life as before, disappeared like an early morning fog beneath the rising sun.

  "Do you have plans for the day?"

  She nodded, her smile dragging into a worried frown. "Unfortunately I have to take a small group to the Maroon Bells. Rescues might be off-limits but I can pace myself on this one."

  The change in his eyes was instantaneous. He knew precisely what that meant. High elevation, level five, difficult climbing. Definitely not for amateurs. Considerably more arduous than the trek they'd made up to the Alpine Hut. Regret squeezed her heart. "You shouldn't go," she said quickly. "It'll be—"

  He pressed his finger to her lips. "If you go, I'm going."

  She took his hand in hers. "I don't get that about you, Heath. Why did they send you to cover this kind of story? It doesn't make sense."

  There was something new in his eyes when he spoke. Something she couldn't quite read, but it filled her with an emotion akin to dread.

  "It had to be me."

  Jayne sat up and fished for something to put on. A shirt, anything. "You know, I could use some coffee. How about you?" She tried hard to inject lightness into her tone but failed miserably. He was leaving out some pertinent information and she didn't understand that.

  "Sounds great."

  She tugged on her tattered robe and shimmied into a pair of panties. She tossed him his cold-weather pants, which had been hung across a chair after getting wet on the bathroom floor last night. "Guess that means you get the shower first."

  She wiggled her fingers at him in a goodbye and rushed out of the room. The real world was suddenly pressing in around her, reminding her that her time with Heath was short, temporary. And that something wasn't quite right. Lead filled her tummy. She didn't want to feel either of those things…she definitely didn't want him to see her get all emotional.

  Ten minutes. That's all she needed to pull herself back together. She'd be fine. She'd gotten over far worse in the past. Her heart launched an immediate objection.

  This time—she had an awful feeling—would be the worst by far.

  * * *

  HEATH DRAGGED ON THE cold-weather pants and several realizations slammed into him at once.

  He'd made love to Jayne.

  He zipped his fly and closed his eyes in despair. He'd lost all sight of objectivity, had shirked any pretense of professionalism.

  But the worst of his transgressions was what he had done to her. She trusted him. Finally. And he was, basically, her enemy. Their lovemaking would only add insult to injury when she learned the truth about him and her father.

  Not to mention—he swore hotly—that he'd been so caught up in the intensity of their coming together that he'd forgotten about the camera monitoring her room. He gritted his teeth to hold back the words he wanted to hurl at Danes, who was no doubt watching. Instead, he stormed over to the tiny electronic eye, gave his temporary boss a universal hand gesture he'd have no trouble deciphering, then switched the damned thing off.

  So much for his new career.

  Heath ran a hand through his hair. How the hell had he let things get this far out of control? Had all those years as a cop taught him nothing? You don't get personally involved with a suspect or a witness. Anyone associated with a case was off-limits.

  But he'd screwed up. Let his emotions rule him. Maybe he should have given up any sort of investigative work after the accident.

  He headed into the bathroom for that shower but stopped shy of the tub.

  A quick inventory of his emotions gave him a start. He mulled over his findings as he cleaned up the mess of wet towels from the floor, his movements on autopilot. He piled them near the door and searched the tiny linen closet in hopes of finding at least one last dry towel. Thankfully he found two. He took one, draped it over the rod that circled the big old claw-footed tub then drew the shower curtain around and turned on the water.

  It was the strangest thing. He shucked off his pants and tossed them aside.

  Moments ago, when he'd thought about the accident, he'd done so without the usual plunge into bad memories. He shook off the idea, not wanting to press his luck.

  Damned st
range.

  He stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed. His eyes drifted shut as the spray of hot water sluiced over him. Jayne's image filled his mind. Flashbacks from last night as well as this morning tightened his muscles, made him want to call out to her and drag her into this shower with him. Then the fear intruded, twisting his gut in agony. Not that old familiar fear from his past, but a new one, razor sharp in its own right.

  The fear of losing her.

  * * *

  CRADLING A STEAMING cup of coffee, Jayne curled up in the chair in front of her computer. She hadn't checked her e-mail in days. Not that she got any that often. She mostly used the Internet for checking the weather advisories and the news around the nation. She didn't spend a lot of time in front of the television. Somehow she got more out of it when she read it. Or maybe the news anchors just annoyed her.

  Her telephone rang and she hissed a curse. Setting her hot coffee aside, she reached for the cordless receiver next to the computer with her free hand. She hated having her first cup of coffee interrupted.

  She thought of Heath in the shower and considered that he was one interruption she would have happily tolerated. But she'd needed these few moments of space to get her act back together. She was okay now. She could handle this morning-after thing.

  Hell, she was twenty-five. Not a kid anymore. If she couldn't do it now, there wasn't much hope. She'd wanted to be with Heath, facing the consequences was part of the deal.

  "Hello." She reached for her coffee and stole a sip that scorched her lips and tongue. "Jayne."

  Her heart rocketed into her throat and she nearly dropped the suddenly too heavy cup. She set it aside just to be safe.

  "Dad?"

  He'd never called her three times in the space of one week. She prayed nothing was wrong.

  "We have to talk, Jayne. It's important."

  "Is something wrong?" She held the receiver with both hands, her pulse pounding. His voice sounded so…so flat. This had to be bad news.

  "Remember I warned you to be careful of strangers."

  She nodded stiffly then blurted, "Yes, I remember. What's wrong? Has something happened?" She ignored the concept that attempted to trickle into her awareness. She would not go there…would not think that.

  "It's the reporter, Jayne. Heath Murphy."

  Her hands started to shake as ice slid through her veins. At first she couldn't respond, but then she blurted, "No, Dad, you're wrong." She felt so cold. This wasn't possible. No way. He'd made a mistake.

  "I knew this would be hard for you. He's…gotten close to you. I've sent you an e-mail containing all the evidence necessary to prove that I'm right. Don't believe anything he tells you. I'm coming for you and then I'll explain everything."

  The line went dead but Jayne couldn't move.

  Her father had to be wrong.

  She pressed the Off button and stuck the receiver back onto its base, her actions automatic. Her entire being had gone from cold to numb.

  Her father had to be wrong.

  But he'd sounded so…certain. So afraid for her.

  She reached for the mouse and clicked to open her inbox.

  Her hand trembling she opened the message marked "Heath Murphy." An image filled the screen. A picture of Heath. She scrolled down to the next image. A copy of a Salt Lake City newspaper article: Woman Falls to Death. The story described in gory detail how climbing enthusiast Heath Murphy, a homicide detective from Gatlinburg, Tennessee, had lost his fiancée in a devastating accident. The two had set out to scale the Moses Tower, an infamously difficult climb, only one had re turned alive.

  Tears spilled down Jayne's cheeks by the time she reached the end of the article. This was the accident he wouldn't talk about. The woman had been his fiancée. No wonder he didn't climb anymore.

  There was more. Just over two years later. Several articles on an internal affairs investigation involving a Gatlinburg, Tennessee, homicide department. Detective Heath Murphy had been cleared of wrongdoing but had resigned, walking away from a stellar eight-year career.

  A frown nagged at Jayne's brow. Was that when he'd decided to go into journalism? It didn't seem likely to her. Lots of guys in law enforcement turned to writing, she argued, mentally ticking off several she'd read about over the years. She recalled at least one homicide detective who had turned to writing after a high profile Beverly Hills murder. But this was different. Heath had rep resented himself as an investigative journalist, not a novelist. Why hadn't he mentioned that he'd been a cop? She could understand him not wanting to talk about the accident, but his career as a detective shouldn't have been off-limits.

  Then she reached the final part of the e-mail. A current dossier on Heath Murphy.

  Colby Agency investigator.

  The Colby Agency was a private investigations firm in Chicago. He wasn't a writer. Had nothing to do with any newspapers or magazines.

  Jayne's hand fell away from the mouse.

  Heath wasn't here for a story on mountain rescue.

  He was here for her…to learn about her father.

  But he'd never asked anything about her father. She blinked. Well, he had asked about family, but just that once. If he wanted to know more about her father why didn't he ask questions?

  It didn't make sense.

  She closed the confusing document and read the subject line of the new e-mail she'd just received.

  Physical evidence.

  Renewed dread gelled in her stomach.

  She clicked on the message.

  Look in his jacket. He carries a weapon. The newest message from her father listed five areas in her apartment that she should check for what he called surveillance bugs. The final part of his message proved the most unsettling of all. I won't be able to contact you again. With these two e-mails my enemy will know I'm on to them.

  Her heart started to beat faster. Fear tangled with the dread expanding inside her. He couldn't be right. He just couldn't be.

  But she had to know for sure.

  She got up from the chair, her now cold coffee forgotten. She moved to the built-in bookshelves against the far wall. The books she considered keepers were there. Her small thirteen-inch television and a CD player. She tiptoed and felt along the top of the books on the shelf above her head, the one her father had told her to check.

  Her heart stumbled painfully when her fingers encountered a tiny object.

  She didn't want this to be true.

  Oh, please, she didn't want this…

  The object was small and black but even she recognized it as a sort of camera. The eye or lens, whatever it was called, was unmistakable.

  She threw it against the floor.

  Her fury exploding inside her, one by one she found the surveillance bugs and threw them as hard as she could against the hundred-year-old hardwood.

  The water in the shower had just stopped. He would be coming out any moment.

  But she didn't care. She shook with the pain of his betrayal. She waffled between wanting to scream and cry and throw up. Her stomach twisted and her eyes filled with tears despite all her attempts to keep them at bay.

  She found his jacket, sat down on the foot of the bed and held it for a few moments before she reached inside. Touching the weapon wasn't actually necessary. She'd already deduced from the weight of the jacket that there was something heavy in one of the pockets.

  Still, she wanted to see.

  A sob ripped out of her throat.

  To know without doubt that her father's words were true.

  Her fingers curled around cold steel. She withdrew the weapon and stared at it. Black. Similar to something she'd seen on television or in a movie. That's all she could determine. She knew nothing of weapons.

  It surprised her that her tears abruptly dried upon making this final discovery. There would be more, she knew, when the numbness wore off.

  Her father had warned her.

  But she hadn't listened.

  He'd told h
er to beware of strangers. He'd known trouble was headed her way. Had even cautioned her that he feared as much.

  Still she hadn't listened.

  She'd had every warning, every reason to see Heath Murphy coming.

  He'd skated right into her life.

  Another pang of hurt ached through her, twisted in her chest.

  She had to tell Walt that they'd both been fooled. His friend had lied to him. Heath had lied to her. How had she missed all the signs?

  Her eyes closed and the hand holding the weapon fell to her lap. Because she'd needed him to be real. She'd needed him. For months—no years—she had denied that need. To keep her father safe, to protect her heart.

  Somehow Heath had undermined her defenses. Had known all the right things to say and do.

  Because he'd known who she was before he came.

  Fury whipped through her and her eyes opened wide.

  He'd likely studied her. Had devised the perfect plan to get to her. To make her vulnerable. So he could get to her father.

  Her fingers tightened around the butt of the gun.

  She would not let him do this. She had to protect her father.

  Private investigators worked for clients, didn't they? Heath's client was no doubt her father's enemy.

  A cell phone rang.

  It wasn't hers.

  She stared at the jacket on the bed next to her.

  Heath's.

  The bathroom door opened just then. Heath, clad in nothing but a towel, took two steps before the gravity of the situation struck him.

  He looked from her to the weapon in her hand and back to her. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed with considerable difficulty.

  "Let me explain."

  She shook so hard it was all she could do to stand, but she managed. She pointed the gun at him just like she'd seen in the movies. "Tell me the truth. Now."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Aboard the Colby Agency jet

  Cole Danes closed the now useless handheld monitor. He glanced out the window and considered whether or not making this journey to Colorado was of any real consequence. The target would be eliminated before dark, he felt confident. All the key elements had been set in motion.