Tripp

by Irish Winters

  Tripp had no business thinking what he was thinking, and he knew it. She would always be the angel; he’d always be the sinner. He was so fuckin’ tired.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  What do you do with a naked man who’s fallen asleep in your arms? Simple. Ashley bowed her nose into the top of his head, smoothed her hands over his shoulders, linked her fingers behind his neck, and kissed his hair. That was all. Tripp had finally let go. She could tell. The second he did, the hard knots in his shoulder muscles relaxed. His body was limp and heavy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so privileged in her life, and thankful that she’d called her boss and had taken the rest of the week off.

  Tripp’s needs were paramount to everything else. The first, obviously, sleep. Then sex, hopefully. Maybe a shower. And lunch. For sure lunch. He needed to keep up his strength. It was difficult not staring at the expanse of naked man spread over her. His broad back that narrowed to a trim waist and a taut ass and long legs. He’d dipped most of his face between her breasts. Warm steady breaths now feathered over her skin.

  But what a sight. Every last ropey muscle over his shoulders and down his back and arms, his biceps, even his forearms, were thick and heavy. Gnarled veins stretched under his bronzed skin. He’d been in Seattle. Not much chance he’d gotten that deep tan there. Which meant he’d gotten an awful lot of sun when he’d been deployed. Which also meant he hadn’t been home very long. His skin was still so dark, and sun-kissed highlights in his hair shone through the darker blond strands. White and gold, a perfect combination.

  She loved the feel of him, so she let her palms drift anywhere they wanted to go. His skin felt different than hers, thicker maybe. Rougher in some places. The smooth expanse of muscles beneath it were definitely more solid than hers. Of course. He was all man and a soldier. He’d trained to be tough.

  Grunting in his sleep, he wrapped one big arm around her waist, scraping his fingers between her back and the mattress, until he had her caught. Not like she minded. His back didn’t feel chilly, but just in case, she snagged the sheet he’d tossed aside when this adventure in bed began. Tugging it up, she covered as much of him as she could. Mostly his bare back and butt. Not his long legs.

  He settled into her, sighing.

  Ashley was happier than she could ever remember being. There, squashed beneath a sleeping giant of a very warm man, she’d found peace. It hadn’t seemed possible at first. She’d made assumptions he’d proved were foolish and wrong. Tripp McClane had grown on her. He’d snuck under her radar, under her skin, and into her heart.

  It was happening. She loved this man.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  He knew where she was now, and he knew who she was with. The big, tough guy with green eyes hadn’t left her place since he’d knocked on her door early this morning. He was still there. What were they doing? Fucking each other’s brains out? How terribly predictable. Damn him. But he’d soon get his comeuppance. By the end of the day, that big, brave, tough guy would be sniveling like a baby for leaving her alone and unprotected.

  He wouldn’t have gotten this far if he hadn’t taught himself how to break into homes and hotel rooms, how to pick locks and pockets, to lighten a woman of her wallet long enough to find out where she lived or worked. It had never been about stealing money, only essentials, like the master keycard to this entire apartment complex now in his pocket. He hadn’t wanted that guy in the lobby’s money. Not at all. To prove it, he’d left the unpilfered wallet with the body. It was true. Dead men didn’t tell tales.

  The next step? Get Ashley Cox. He was so very close to her. So near and so quiet. She’d never see him coming, but come he would. He shut the door across the hall from her apartment, locking himself in where he could keep an eye on her. The goal was so near, he could almost taste it. Her. For Ashley Cox, he could wait. He’d already waited two years. What was another hour or two? And then, they’d play. Oh, how they’d play.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  His phone chimed like the fuckin’ bells of Notre Dame, startling Tripp out of a dead sleep. That ringtone indicated a hunchback from work was calling. Possibly Alex. Surely, a troll just as annoying, whoever it was.

  Tripp groaned and rubbed his face in the fragrant mounds of womanly flesh he’d fallen asleep on. He was in breast heaven. His nostrils flared and his cock was ready for action. Thank fuck. Until his damned phone pealed again. Louder, like the thing was pissed off. Tripp sure was. What bad timing.

  “Where’s my phone?” he groaned into Ashley’s sweet, fragrant skin.

  “It’s wherever your pants are.” She was smiling. He could tell by the glow in her voice.

  “Yeah, well…” Tripp arched back onto his haunches, careful not to crush or pinch her. He would’ve found his pants and his phone if… he hadn’t stopped to take in the delectable feast spread in front of him. Her hair was mussed, black tendrils of silk laced around her head and spilling over her shoulders and the pillow. Her breasts were marked and wrinkled from some big moose who had, apparently, fallen asleep in her arms. She’d tucked her legs together when he’d lifted up. Which was not what he wanted. He’d love to see all of her, but they were still in the early stages of... whatever was happening between them. If she needed more time to feel comfortable with him, she’d get it.

  He’d never slept better, but neither could he resist. Leaning onto his forearms, he watched her eyes widen as her gaze scrolled over his shoulders to his bare ass, now raised high behind him. Well, let her look. Her naked body was one helluva fine sight to wake up to. His hands landed on her pillowy breasts and—

  The damned phone rang again.

  “I have to answer that,” he said, his fingers tapping her soft breasts. He needed more time with his woman. More awake time.

  “You do,” she murmured, her eyes extra-large, extra-dark this morning.

  Ring, ring went the damned phone!

  Lifting his ass off the bed, Tripp jumped to his feet and went in search of his pants, which were slouched on the floor at the end of the bed, his boots still in the cuffs where he’d toed out of everything. Fumbling, he snagged his cell and answered Jameson with a terse, “McClane here.”

  “I hate to tell you but—”

  “Another body?”

  Ashley lifted to her elbows, watching and listening.

  “Yes, but if this was our perp, it’s his first male victim. Same MO. One sharp cut. One red rose. Tongue missing. Sure feels like his work, but I can’t tell for sure. Where are you?”

  “At Ashley’s,” he didn’t mind saying. “Why?”

  “Because this body was found an hour ago, one block east of your apartment complex, in the green space between the on-ramp and northbound GW Parkway.” The George Washington Memorial Parkway.

  “Jesus. That’s just a block away.”

  “Yes, and this kill’s fresh. Rigor hasn’t set in. Don’t know if you want to join us, but I wish you would. He left a bloody body bag this time.”

  “Which explains how he’s moved the other bodies.”

  “Most likely. It’s pretty rank. Don’t think he’s ever hosed it out between vics. The ME is here, and FBI forensics just arrived. Just thought with your sharp eyes, you might see what these guys are missing.”

  Tripp read between the lines. You mean, what you’re missing. “Chase still being an asshole?”

  “He’s certainly focused.” Jameson’s weariness came loud and clear through the connection. “He’s called in his psychics. Thought you’d want to meet them, too. I’ve got to say, they are an interesting group. I like them.”

  Tripp shot a glance over his shoulder. Ashley had just gotten out of bed, and he had the best view of her bare supple back, the two dimples above her lush, heart-shaped bottom, and two long legs that might soon—he hoped—take him all the way to heaven. Just not now. Damn it!

  “Sure, yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, running a hand over his bedhead. “Give me ten t
o grab a shower.” His eyes slid back to Ashley. “Or twenty.”

  She’d slipped into the cutest pair of light-tan boy shorts and a white t-shirt that didn’t hide a thing. When she looked over her shoulder and smiled his way, he told Jameson, “Make it a half-hour, give or take a few—”

  “No, I need you here now. I need your eyes, damn it!” Shit, he was testy.

  “Okay, yeah. Sure. On my way. Be there in five.” Talk about bad timing.

  A murmured, “Thanks,” breathed over the connection before Jameson ended the call.

  “I have to leave,” Tripp told the woman he was beginning to have serious feelings for.

  “Okay.” Her pretty face was as bright as Sunday morning. “I’ll fix coffee and send you off with a travel mug. Sugar? Cream?”

  And you? Tripp licked his lips at what he was leaving behind. The sweetest, rarest sugar, the richest cream. And he was a hungry man. But the business of murder victims would always come first. Especially if Trish, like Ashley, was one of this bastard’s failed kills.

  “Black,” he told her, then went in search of his shirt. Quickly, Tripp dressed in yesterday’s clothes and this afternoon’s wrinkles. His mom might mind how he looked, but this was the job. Activating his cell again, he saw that he’d slept a solid three hours in Ashley’s arms. Sweet.

  Tucking his phone in his rear pocket, he snagged her silk panties off the bedside table, tucked them into his pocket and followed her into her kitchen. The compact room was a mirror image of his. Their shared wall housed the plumbing. That put their kitchens and bathrooms back to back. From her kitchen door, he could see her entire place.

  The master bedroom shared one wall with the bathroom. The other space was divided between an open entryway with a beige tiled-floor, an open great room with floor-to-ceiling windows and deep blue carpet. A smaller bedroom was situated across the great room from the master bedroom. Room-darkening panel curtains graced all of Ashley’s windows. They were open now. Peewee’s wrought iron cage stood in the center of all that glass. Guess he needed to see out more than she did.

  She’d decorated her apartment in feminine soft pastels, mostly peaches and powder blues. His was decorated in round-tuits, as in he was going to decorate when he got around to it.

  Tripp kept his exercise equipment, his gun safe, and his spec ops gear out of sight in his spare bedroom. The door to Ashley’s was open. Inside, a cozy brass daybed with a quilted mauve blanket stood along one wall, a long table and chair, with a gooseneck lamp on the other. Two small, plastic tool-boxes were open beside the lamp, both revealing four removable shelves of stackable trays. A couple trays were lids up. Looked like a work bench. She had tools?

  “You have a hobby?” he asked, as she handed him a tall, black metal to-go cup.

  “Beading.” She shrugged it off as if it were no big deal. “I sell beaded purses, belts, and bookmarks online. I’ll show you sometime.”

  Tripp set the cup on her coffee table, then pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want to leave.”

  Ashley came easily, looking up at him as if he really were someone, her hands on his chest. “I don’t want you to leave, either, but you do important work. Go. Find the guy who’s killing women. I hope he’s the same one who hurt me, then it’ll finally be over.”

  Her eyes were clear today. Brighter than he’d seen them before. He hoped he was the reason for the confidence shining there. “Plan on meeting my mom later if we can swing it. That okay with you?” he asked as his hands skated down her back and over those sexy boy shorts and the plump cheeks within them.

  Her head bobbed. “Of course. I’ll be here.”

  He sealed that promise with a kiss. Three other little words tripped up his throat, but Tripp swallowed them. He was not the settling down kind, so, he told her instead, “Don’t go anywhere. Stay inside.”

  There was that smile again. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? It’s me, remember? The best-selling author of ‘How to Scare Yourself for Dummies.’ Trust me, I’m not the go anywhere type. You go. Do what you do best. Save the world.”

  She made him feel like he could do exactly that.

  Easing out of Ashley’s embrace, Tripp snagged his holster and slid it over his shoulders. He retrieved his pistols from her desk. Racking each slide, he ensured both had a round chambered, then tucked those babies under his arms where he could easily reach them. He slipped into his leather jacket next, concealing the fact that he could and would end the fucker now killing women in his town. That was what Alexandria had become, Tripp’s town.

  Unlocking Ashley’s deadbolt, he puckered his lips and pantomimed a kiss to her, then closed the door behind him. He waited for the click of her deadbolt engaging. Good girl.

  Only then, did he head out to do what he did best. Hunt.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was time. At last. The green-eyed gorilla had finally left Ashley Cox’s apartment. He’d stood there with his head cocked long enough before he’d left, though, as if he were listening. But then he’d nodded once and strode to the elevator. Obviously, he’d waited until his little girlfriend locked herself in for the day.

  Like that would keep her safe? Hardly.

  He licked his bottom lip, his gut already filled with the gnawing, razor-sharp need that ruled every move. Couple that with the giddy anticipation of the tears and terror that lay ahead, and…

  He palmed his junk to keep it from getting ahead of the game. He was primed for a very good day, but patience. He needed patience.

  He liked this part of the game. There was so much to look forward to. It was like Christmas Eve. The expectation! His heart skipped a beat at the thought of all the afternoon would bring. The shrieks. The joy! The pain. The screams! It was enough to make a man come in his pants. But first…

  He needed to surprise her. Yesssss... This part of the game was the best. Surely, Ashley Cox would agree. It wasn’t like she’d have a choice, would she?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  She was a woman in love, and Ashley knew it. She’d done something outrageously bold this morning. She’d made love, well, almost. But she had initiated her first ever, honest to goodness, sexual encounter with Tripp, and she’d had two orgasms! How wonderful was that?

  Sharing a sweet, intimate encounter with him had brought her world into clearer focus. He’d been so gentle and giving. The poor guy had been dead on his feet, yet still he’d given her a morning she’d treasure forever. If only they’d had more time. She was falling hard for the gentle giant of a man, and she had no way to stop herself. For the first time in her sheltered, boring, timid life, Ashley was in love, and it was spectacular.

  Floating on air, she twirled silly, lazy circles across her living room floor, her arms lifted like wings, and her heart on that handsome devil who’d just left. She’d told him she’d be here when he returned, but wouldn’t he be surprised? Because she was done being a loser and a coward. A scaredy-cat. Ashley wanted her life back today. She used to have dreams. Well, hello world, today, because of Tripp, she started dreaming again.

  Pulling off her tank top, she slipped back into her violet bra. She’d seen Tripp’s eyes light up when he’d first seen it. She intended to blow his mind when he returned, and she met him at the door dressed in nothing but sexy underwear. A shiver ran over her shoulders. She’d never dared do anything so naughty before.

  With a quick, backward glance at her closet full of boxy man shirts and loose pants, she made a mental note to go clothes shopping. Today, she’d dressed for success. Violet success! But work first, play later. Snagging her bathrobe, she covered herself, then hurried back to her kitchen and went to work.

  Grinning like a silly woman in love, Ashley pulled the frozen chicken breasts she’d bought on sale last week out of her freezer. They went into the microwave to defrost. Besides beading, she dabbled in cooking. She wasn’t sous chef caliber yet, but she knew her way around her kitchen, and she was fixing her specialt
y this morning, chicken and dumplings. It’d be the perfect comfort food to take to Tripp’s poor mom. The last thing she needed to worry about was what to eat or where to go for dinner.

  After washing the thawed chicken in her kitchen sink, Ashley patted the pieces dry and placed them in her already-lined-for-easy-clean-up crockpot. She poured an entire carton of chicken broth into the mix, added an array of delicious spices, turned the pot to high, and busied herself tidying up what little mess she’d made. The chicken breasts would be tender and ready for shredding in a couple hours. By then, she’d have celery and onions chopped, ready to be tossed into the mix. In the meantime, she’d slice and cook several carrots to be added later. When they were tender, she’d turn the crockpot off and strain the broth. It wouldn’t take long to thicken it into rich chicken gravy, and shredding crockpot chicken was simple.

  Then, prest-o, change-o, back into the crockpot the aromatic stew would go. Dumplings were as easy as—she snapped her fingers—that.

  Hmmm. Maybe Mrs. Harrison would like a serving of chicken and dumplings, too. Good thinking! Ashley had more chicken in her freezer. She could make enough for Tripp’s entire team. Happily at work in her kitchen, she started humming some commercial jingle. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Tripp’s handsome face when he came back and she opened her door. What a great, sexy day to be alive!

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Most people thought deadbolts made their homes impregnable. They couldn’t be more wrong. Deadbolts were as easy to break into as locks on bank vaults—if you knew how. Which he did. Pulling his well-used set of lockpick tools from one of the many deep pockets of his trench coat, he dropped to a knee. The final game had begun, and he was going to win.