“Does Terrence know you’re in here?” she whispered, aghast.
“He’s snoring so loudly that his door is shaking.”
“Oh.” The realization that they were, for all intents and purposes, very much alone and in her bedroom took her by storm, making her head spin and her heart race.
“Come closer,” Tobias commanded, holding her gaze captive as she took tentative steps toward the bed. Without warning, he rolled to his feet, grabbed her around the waist, and tossed her onto the center of the mattress, flat on her back, before coming down on top of her.
Dylan stifled a squeal of laughter.
“All day long I wondered if I’d ever get time alone with you.”
The suspicion that he’d choreographed the evening’s events entered her thoughts briefly even as she thrilled at his confession. At least she wasn’t the only one obsessing. “We still need to be discreet,” she warned.
“So no screaming,” he agreed, his eyes dancing like waves on the ocean. He tickled her ribs, eliciting a gasp and a choking sound as she fought not to laugh.
“Stop it!” She slapped his hand away. “You play dirty.”
“I know I do. Want to see?”
Breathing fast, biting her lower lip, she felt like she was standing on a precipice about to throw herself over it. “Yes,” she daringly replied.
In the next instant, he was kissing her with primal passion, stealing her breath away and making his intent so clear that she moaned and arched toward the hard length of his body. He nudged her knees apart, swept a hand up under her nightshirt, and pushed it higher and higher until he exposed her heaving breasts.
Fastening his mouth on one taut peak, and then the other, he sucked and licked and gently bit the tingling nubs until she thought she’d go out of her mind with want. She dug her nails into his back, raked her fingers through his hair and thrashed helplessly beneath him.
She’d known it would be like this—like a mad reckless ride on a powerful stallion.
Tearing his mouth from her breasts, he nipped and grazed his way toward the epicenter of her quaking body. His skilled tongue lapped and lathed, spiking her pleasure to new heights. At the same time, he reached up and pinched a nipple and that was all it took for Dylan to climax, helpless beneath his teasing onslaught.
But he gave her no reprieve. Her inner muscles were still convulsing with aftershocks of pleasure when he released the zipper on his jeans, pushed them past his hips and buried himself in one smooth stroke inside her. Covering her mouth, he caught the animal cry that issued from her mouth into his. Kissing her deeply, he retreated and filled her again.
Dylan closed her eyes, riding the storm with abandonment. It was just as she’d imagined—even better. Words she’d never dreamed of saying trembled on the tip of her tongue. If he weren’t ravishing her mouth, she might have said them out loud.
Tobias lifted his head without warning. His entire body stiffened and he withdrew from her suddenly.
“What?” she cried, crashing back to reality.
“My fault,” he huffed, grinning like a kid. “Got carried away and forgot about protection.”
Groaning because she’d also forgotten, Dylan watched him extract a condom from his back pocket. He flipped over and jackknifed, shucking off his jeans and boxers in one athletic movement. His erection, jutting upward, beckoned her touch. Dylan stretched out a hand and stroked him, causing him to still with an indrawn breath. Squirming closer, she looked to him for permission.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” he told her.
With a smile for his gusto, she lowered her head, traced the smooth head of his sex with her tongue. The salty-sweet taste of her own arousal excited her. With a muttered curse, he gathered her hair in his hands and watched her treat him like a Popsicle.
“Better stop,” he growled after a minute. “Lie back.” Twisting onto his side, he wrestled her to the mattress, so that she lay on her back. “Behave,” he said, sheathing himself with the condom.
Her own husky laughter echoed in her ears, reminding her of something from her distant past.
Tobias’s eyes crinkled at the corners but his expression was a picture of mock seriousness as he looked over at her. “Now, remember. No screaming. Make a sound and I’ll spank you.”
She tingled at the threat. “Sure you will.”
“You want to find out?” He hooked one of her legs in the crook of his arm, tipping her hips up to receive his possession.
Possession. There was no other word for it, Dylan reflected as he surged into her.
He pistoned his hips, riding her with such intent that she had to bite her lip to keep from uttering unladylike encouragement. In spite of her efforts, a word broke from her lips.
He stilled in amazement. “God damn you are hot,” he commented.
“Don’t use God’s name in vain,” she scolded.
“You’re right. Sorry.” He withdrew from her suddenly, prompting a gasp of regret. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, shifting his weight. “We’re not nearly done yet.”
Goosebumps rippled up the backs of her thighs.
“Up on your knees,” he instructed. “Face the headboard.”
Following his directions, she was rewarded by the feel of his hands on her waist, his magical lips on her shoulders. Kissing the sprinkling of freckles there, he nuzzled her neck until she hummed in pleasure.
“Hands here and here,” he said, lifting them to the top of the mahogany headboard, placing them well apart. “How old is this bed?”
She could scarcely think. “Like a hundred years.” Her heart galloped with anticipation.
“Hope we don’t break it.” He scooted up behind her. The hair on his chest tickled her back. She arched her spine, inviting him nearer, turning her head to send him a pleading look.
He slanted his mouth across hers in the same instant that he entered her. The bed creaked as their bodies came together. The headboard groaned as they pushed and pulled in a mindless quest to get deeper, closer. Dylan wished herself nowhere else in the world but where she was, being claimed by the one man who’d brought her back to life.
Their joining became feverish, desperate. The headboard clanked.
Tobias released one of her hands to reach between her thighs. As he had the other night, he brought her quickly to crisis. His sensual touch, paired with his hips ramming her from behind, hurtled into an unprecedented climax. His final retreat and plunge seemed to wring pleasure from her very soul.
The first sound she made when she could catch her breath again was a sob. They collapsed onto the pillows in a tangle of limbs. Tobias lifted his head so he could search her face. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, as tears blurred her vision.
The endearment only magnified the feeling that she’d just been reborn.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, afraid that if she said another word she would start weeping and not be able to stop.
She’d never considered herself a sentimental person. Anger and fear—those were her bosom companions. Those were the emotions she grappled with on a daily basis, not tenderness or wonder or this terrifying sense of fragility. Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, embarrassing her by leaking out to slide down her face.
“Hey,” he crooned as he carefully separated their lower bodies, sweeping aside the used condom. He rolled her toward him, so that they lay face-to-face, sharing the same pillow. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He gathered her protectively against him.
She shook her head vehemently. “No. It’s not that.” But she couldn’t have said what it was.
His expression struck her as uncharacteristically grave, almost….tortured.
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
A moment of silence fell between them, an opportunity for words to be spoken, if she knew what to say.
Tobias was the first to break it. “I want you to know something.”
“What?” Her imagination caught fire.
“I’ve never known anyone like yo
u,” he said, straight-faced.
Her heart trembled, but she sought to make light of his remark. “Really? And you’ve been with—” she shrugged, “hundreds of women, so that’s really saying something, huh?” she teased.
“Dozens,” he corrected with a leer. “But, yes, that is saying something.”
Dylan broke eye contact lest the happy glow inside her became too apparent. A man like Tobias would run the other way if he felt in the least bit smothered. The thought of him leaving gutted her.
“So,” she said, desperate to change the subject, “do you think we woke up Terrence with the ruckus we made?”
Tobias grimaced. “I think I might have ruined your reputation, Captain.”
Her face flooded with heat. “I don’t think he’d mind too much,” she assured him. “He doesn’t show it, but I think he likes you.”
“I like him, too,” Tobias admitted, lowering his gaze. “He’s a good guy.”
A lump swelled in Dylan’s throat giving rise to fresh tears. She blinked them back.
“How much longer does he have?”
She regarded him in amazement. “You never tiptoe around forbidden topics, do you?”
“Don’t see the point,” he said with a shrug. “How long?”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. A month, maybe a little more, maybe less.”
Tobias’s jaw jumped. “Okay,” he said sadly.
The sound of the front door thumping shut and the thud of footfalls in the entryway made them freeze. Milly pushed up off the floor and looked at the door. Dylan tightened her hold on Tobias.
“Sleep with me tonight,” she whispered, risking rejection by baring her need for him. “As long as you’re the first one up, which you always are, who’s going to know?” she reasoned.
“Tomorrow’s church,” he retorted with a devilish smile. “If I stay here tonight, you’re going to have a lot to repent for.”
Her extremities tingled at the sensual warning. She lifted her lips to his. “You promise?” she whispered.
“Swear.” He squeezed her backside. “Let me get rid of this condom and I’ll be right back.”
With a sigh of contentment, she let him go.
Toby stepped into the adjoining bathroom and quietly shut the door. He took a look around. Dylan’s bathroom was all porcelain fixtures and outdated floral wallpaper. It smelled like her—like clean linen. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, he dropped the used condom into the toilet, flushed it and ran a washcloth under hot water. He didn’t have to see the look on his face to know that something profound had just happened.
He’d become deeply emotionally involved with the FBI’s top suspect in the Nolan murder. Way to go, bro. Using the washcloth, he wiped himself clean.
In his own defense, he hadn’t been able to help himself. Dylan was a one-of-a-kind woman, a truly unique and complicated soul. She’d intrigued him from the start. Whatever she did or said seemed to touch him somewhere deep down, in a place where he’d never been touched before. No woman—suspect or otherwise—had ever made him feel this way.
If he thought about why that might be true, it would send him into some dark, tortuous maze from which he would emerge with his thoughts completely tangled. The best thing to do was not to think at all, but just clap on blinders and get back into the bed with Dylan, letting himself enjoy more mind-blowing, spine-tingling sensations without over-analyzing them.
He rinsed out the towel, dried his hands, and went to do just that.
Chapter Twelve
A muffled voice announcing that the metro train had stopped in West Falls Church roused Toby from a sound sleep. Milly was licking his hand, trying to tell him something. It took him a minute to recollect where he was and what he was doing. And then he realized they’d arrived at their destination, and she was telling him to get off. Toby leapt to his feet, snatched up his duffle bag, and headed for the open doors with Milly fighting to keep up.
The cold air on the outdoor platform brought him more sharply awake. As he urged Milly to climb the unmoving escalator, Toby reconsidered his upcoming meeting with the Taskforce lead. What could he say to convince Ike that Dylan was being framed when all evidence suggested otherwise? If the culprit responsible for the bombing succeeded in framing her, then—God forbid—Dylan might disappear into some prison or hospital somewhere, never to emerge again.
Every cell in his body rebelled at the thought. He simply couldn’t let that happen.
Crossing the covered walkway spanning the tracks, he emerged on the other side, only to be assailed by the sense that he was being watched—the same as last week.
He scanned the area, seeing nothing but a quiet drop-off zone and a virtually empty parking garage, all standing under a damp, cloud-covered sky. What the hell was going on? He couldn’t see a soul paying any attention to him, so why was his sixth sense jangling?
Remaining vigilant, he waved one of the three taxis out of the queue, ordered Milly into the back seat, and dove in after her. He supplied the driver with the address to the NCTC and sat back, keeping an eye on every window for signs of a tail.
Great Falls Street, which became a four-lane highway, conveyed only a few cars toward McLean this Sunday morning. The handful of drivers appeared to be headed to and from church. Glancing over his shoulder, Toby noticed a taxi pacing them at a distance. It followed them two and a half miles, all the way to the turn-off to the NCTC, only to continue past when Toby’s taxi turned in.
“This is good.” Toby paid the driver and got out at the head of Tysons-McLean Drive. He stood a moment on the shoulder, shivering in the cold, waiting to see if the taxi retraced its route and came back. When it didn’t, he shrugged and walked up the short, curved road to the National Counterterrorism Center.
As with the previous week, analysts inside the Operations Center greeted Milly, ignoring Toby, as they passed along the back of the room toward the elevators. Toby hit the button for the second floor and checked his watch. Today, he was five minutes early. Dylan had trained him well.
Regardless of his timely arrival, the Taskforce lead and Special Agents Maddox and Hamilton had still managed to beat him to the boardroom. All three looked up from the long table as Toby pushed his way inside. “Morning,” he called, unable to summon a smile.
Jackson’s astute gaze didn’t waver. His old friend couldn’t tell just by looking at Toby that he was sleeping in Dylan’s bed, could he?
“Have a seat,” Ike said, nodding at the chair that Toby had occupied the previous week. “We were just reviewing a report forwarded to us by the Department of Cyberspace. At their request, the Russians surrendered satellite images of Dylan Connelly’s Suburban parked one block from the site where Secretary Nolan’s car exploded.”
Toby’s stomach dropped. How could that be? “How can they tell for certain that it’s her car?”
Ike Calhoun leaned back in his own seat and raised a silver eyebrow at him. “The rear fender is bent. The images don’t lie.”
“That doesn’t mean she drove it there. People close to her have access to the keys,” Toby insisted, though he’d never seen anyone but Dylan drive her vehicle. He’d intended to lay the groundwork for his suspicions first, not toss them out there right away, but Ike had put him on the defensive. “I think she’s being framed,” he blurted unceremoniously.
When a weighty silence followed his declaration, Toby sucked in a deep breath and plowed ahead. “Think about the pipe found on her property,” he said. “According to the supply sergeant, it was lying in the yard one day and he just stuck it in the shed, thinking it could come in handy later. If you consider the number of civilian soldiers who drop by on a weekly basis, any one of them could have tossed the pipe out the window of his car. Plus, there’s something else that doesn’t add up. Dylan denies ever having written any anti-war essays, and I believe she’s telling the truth.”
The team lead’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure her memory is intact?”
Anger
flickered in Toby briefly. “There’s nothing wrong with her memory,” he said through his teeth. “She’s emotionally damaged from a tragedy she witnessed and took part in, but she’s not insane.”
Ike’s measuring look informed Toby that he’d taken note of his defensive tone. He glanced at Jackson. “Make a note to research her essays further. We ought to be able to pull up a domain name that tells us where those essays were uploaded.” He looked back at Toby. “Who would frame her?” he demanded.
Toby exhaled. At least Ike seemed to be considering his theory. “Anyone who wants to avert suspicion. The militia already has an anti-government reputation. Add to that Dylan’s emotional instability, and you’ve got yourself a readymade suspect.”
Not even a glimmer of Calhoun’s private thoughts showed in his expression. “Any idea who you might be talking about?” he paraphrased.
Is he mocking me? Toby deliberately held his gaze. “No, sir. Have you researched the priest?”
Calhoun looked pointedly at Jackson, who thumbed through his notes and said, “Arthur Alan Nesbit, born in 1943 left seminary in 1968 to serve as an Army chaplain. He worked in mobile hospitals in the Vietnam War for the next five years, during which time he earned two purple hearts for valor under fire.” Jackson glanced up. “Looks like he came by his anti-war sentiment honestly. I asked several former parishioners if they thought him capable of killing for his beliefs, and they all said no. There’s nothing in his record to suggest otherwise—no history of arrests, no protest marches, no bombing of abortion clinics, nothing of any radical nature whatsoever.”
Toby wasn’t so sure. Sitting in church that morning next to a sleepy Dylan, he had listened to Nesbit preach a sermon on grace while letting his imagination run amok. The only good thing about Nesbit not being a suspect was that Dylan adored the man. It would be a true blow to learn that the priest was using her to conceal his actions.
Almost as bad as finding out that the man sleeping in her bed was, in fact, a federal agent, noted the voice of his conscience.
Ike caught his eye. “Director Bloomberg wants to make the arrest,” he announced.
The Enforcer Page 16
