Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19)

by Irish Winters

  But more than anything, he needed her safe and warm and willing in his arms again, the heady scent of her hair in his nose. It’d been too long since they’d been intimate. He’d be okay then. Because they’d be okay. They had to be.

  God, please let her be home.

  Chapter Six

  Tara glanced at Renner from the corner of her eye. After she gave him her address, he’d grown quiet. Pensive. Wintery clouds hung low over the landscape. They were a block from her apartment in Wakefield, a neighborhood in the Northwest quadrant of the District, but he had yet to say anything.

  The home itself was an older Victorian, complete with a mansard roof, fish scale shingles, and gingerbread scrollwork outside, wainscoting and an elegant spiral staircase inside. Not that those amenities mattered.

  The current owner, Mr. Marchant, a stuffy older gentleman, had subdivided what once was a mansion into four separate suites with front and rear common entries. Two elegant suites comprised the first level, another two the second. But as times grew leaner, or maybe because he’d become a seasoned landlord, he’d renovated the uppermost portion of the house, the attic, into what was now Tara’s apartment. Only dear, sweet, irascible Mr. Marchant had called it a ‘loft’—an incredibly generous description of the cramped, three-room cubbyhole with slanted ceilings and plenty of drafts on chilly days—in the real estate listing.

  That was what had caught Tara’s eye. She’d always wanted a loft. It sounded New Age romantic. Upbeat. Modern. In the end it was just an old attic. Not much romance about that.

  There were two reasons she signed on the dotted line despite those inconveniences: the comparably safe neighborhood surrounding the old Victorian and the single rear entrance to her ‘loft’. Once she parked her Honda Civic in her assigned stall in the cramped rear parking lot, there were only fifteen steps, maybe sixteen on a bad day, to the main back door. Once inside, the door to her apartment stood locked and waiting at her immediate right. She had only to unlock that door, shut it quickly behind her, engage the deadbolt, and she was safe again. Out of sight. She had her life back now. Where he couldn’t get to her.

  Inconvenience she could live with. Clanging water pipes and unreliable radiators she could work with. Bring ’em on.

  As Renner turned onto the pothole-marked asphalt driveway, he looked up at the light glowing from the front dormer window as if he was studying it. Thanks to an army of timers, no one could tell whether she was home at night or not. Some turned on music. Most activated lights. But they all worked for her.

  “This is it?” he asked, his brows lifted but his face devoid of expression.

  “Yeah, this is me,” she breathed, ready to run if he’d rather just drop her at the curb and be done with her. She wouldn’t blame him. She had been rude to his boss.

  But she hadn’t expected to run into Kelsey’s husband tonight, much less take a drive with the infamous Alex Stewart. That was an unnerving hour not well spent, and he’d been every bit as rude and condescending as the reputation that preceded him. Kelsey adored him, though why she did, Tara had no idea. Yes, he was good-looking in that crisp, silvery-gray business suit, white shirt, and red power tie. But the man was as hard as steel and he came with as much personality as some Gestapo officer. And he’d been rude to Renner. Abrupt. Good bosses just didn’t treat their employees like that.

  Instead of pulling over to let her out at the curb, Renner steered that massive Cadillac to the end of the driveway, then turned left into the skimpy parking lot. Angling the longer vehicle alongside the overflowing dumpster, he put it in park and turned off the key. Tipping his head sideways, he looked at her and said, “This has been quite a day. I’ll bet you’re tired.”

  She nodded, anxious to be gone now that she was almost home. Almost safe.

  His fingertips landed on her shoulder, gently, like summer rain. Just letting her know he was there. “Hey, you’re uptight. What’s going on in that amazing brain of yours?”

  “I should go. It’s late.” And you turned the car off. That means you expect something. I never should’ve brought you here.

  Renner sighed. “I’m not going to make a move on you, Tara, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not worried. I’m…” What? He wasn’t going to make a move? Why not? She nearly lifted an arm to smell her pits to see if she stunk after the adrenaline rush of the night. But that would’ve been a dumb-jock move, and she tried not to do stupid things like that in public. But once in a while, after a hard day or a close call like tonight’s narrow escape, she was known to make dumb-jock moves.

  He tapped her shoulder again, pulling her attention back to his handsome face and those inquisitive sad eyes. Those lips. “But I would settle for another kiss.”

  Tara swallowed hard. That first kiss was her fault. She never should’ve gotten carried away at Crazy Eights. There was just something about his smile, as if he were trying to act happy while he was really sad, that she hadn’t been able to resist.

  But what Renner wanted now was a nightcap. In her room. On her bed. Breakfast in the morning. The key to her solitude. Invasion. Her life. Her peace of mind. She had to correct her mistake, and she had to do it now.

  ‘No,” she whispered to the windshield. “I need to go.” Please don’t make this any harder than it is.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice so low it melted over her frozen heart like buttery, gooey caramel. “Mind if I at least walk you to your door?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m good. B-b-bye.”

  “Hey, Tara,” he murmured, but by then she had one foot out the door. He leaned over the passenger seat and peered up at her, his arm extended, his palm open. “I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “You don’t understand,” she snapped, out in the open now, her heart pounding, telling her to ‘Run!’

  A cat yowled from the shadows, freaking her out. And suddenly, Renner was out of the car, and she was inside his strong arms, her face plastered into his shirt, her heart hammering her insides to mush.

  “You’re shaking,” he whispered, tightening his grip. “What’s got you spooked, woman? My God, you’re scared to death.”

  “N-no, I’m not, it’s just…” Denial wasn’t working. He was right, she could barely breathe or swallow. Her eyes were closed and she was afraid what she’d see once she opened them. “P-p-panic attack. I’ll… I’ll be fine,” she lied. Once he was dead and buried. She’d settle for dead. Hell, she’d settle for knowing he’d moved out of state, maybe back to Colorado where he and she had lived before...

  Renner bent over, settled a hand under her knees, and, as easily as if she were a little girl, he lifted her off the ground and held her tightly against him. Protectively. Tara would’ve argued, but he smelled good, and she’d never been more out of control. This panic attack was a monster. It sent her burrowing under his chin, one hand covering her face to hide her tears as she clung to him with the other. How embarrassing.

  He angled her through the rear entrance, maneuvering adeptly past the screen door and the heavy wooden inside door. Once in the narrow hallway, Renner pressed her shoulder against the wall while she slapped the back door shut, needing to be sure her first line of defense was secure.

  “S-s-stop. My key. I need to unlock m-my door.” If only her fingers would stop shaking. If only she could see straight. Man, she couldn’t think!

  Without a word, Renner set her on her feet, took the keyring from her icy fingers, and unlocked her door with a quiet snick.

  “Of course, it opens for you,” she tried to tease. “I had it ready to p-p-op.”

  He handed the keys back. “I’m here for you, Tara,” he said quietly. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve met in a long time, but if you need any help—”

  “No,” she whispered, her head down, her eyes on the doorknob that meant safety. “It’s just been a really long day, and I’m tired, and I’m—”

  “And you’re not read
y to let anyone into your life, I get it. But I’m still here for you.” He pulled a business card out of his back pocket. “Name’s Renner Graves,” he said with that same small, sad smile. “Former Marine. Still and always my mama’s boyo. You need me, you call. Anytime. Anywhere. Promise?”

  She nodded, calmer now because of this man and his gentle ways. He’d had plenty of opportunity. All night long he could’ve put the moves on her, yet he hadn’t, and that meant a lot.

  He turned his back on her then. Leaving her. Walking away. Renner had one hand on the painted-over rear doorknob and one boot out the door, when she breathed, “D-don’t. Don’t go.”

  That got his attention. But there was no glint in his eye that he’d won and she’d lost when he looked over his shoulder at her. Only respect. That was what Tara saw glimmering in those incredible eyes. His head dipped once. Renner closed the rear exit, stepped back inside, glanced at the ceiling and said, “You got any coffee up there?”

  She nodded again, her body still trembling with fear and panic, but calmer now.

  “Good. I could use a cup, but then I have to go. I can’t stay all night, so don’t ask. A guy like me needs his beauty sleep.” He seemed to know just what to say to set her at ease.

  “I’ve got coffee. H-hot chocolate, too. With marshmallows if you’ve got to have ’em.”

  He gave her one of his winning smiles and gestured for her to lead the way

  Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different.

  Chapter Seven

  Damn. This woman, this daring, outrageously brave, spit-in-your-eye acrobat who had no problem scaling tall buildings only to dive off them like a flying squirrel, was a puzzle. The closer Renner had gotten to her place, the more the tension ramped up inside the Cadillac. He’d been absorbed in Alex’s obvious discomfort until he realized Tara hadn’t spoken the entire drive. Then he’d kept his mouth shut, because that’s what smart men did.

  He’d lived with his sister long enough. He knew less was oftentimes, more. Women were the mystery of the ages. Refined and beautiful. Delightfully perplexing. Calm one moment, then out of control and temperamental the next. Prone to angry outbursts like a spring thunderstorm, just as prone to exquisite tenderness like a spring shower. But that was just his sister. This gal definitely wasn’t PMSing. Tara had no trouble standing up to his boss tonight, yet she was obviously scared to death now. Renner wanted to know why.

  So, he followed her up the three narrow staircases, all lined with beadboard, to an equally narrow landing, where he stood patiently while she fumbled her keys. He could’ve stepped in like a know-it-all tough guy and unlocked it for her. But more than anything, Tara needed to feel in control again. So, he stood back and watched until, at last, the door opened. Either she’d tell him what had her rattled or not. He was good at waiting.

  She walked through her apartment like a SEAL on patrol. The place was small, yet she checked her kitchen and the opposite two small rooms, then double-checked the two deadbolts on her door. That alone spelled PARANOIA. Or fear. She was hiding from someone.

  Renner stepped back and gave her more space and time to settle down. Obviously, a DIY project, he noted the bare light switches on the walls where protective plates should’ve been installed. There were no overhead light fixtures in this attic, which made him wonder what the wall switches were for. Maybe wall outlets? Table lamps were in abundance. A Himalayan salt rock cast a pinkish glow from the desk at the front window. That was the odd light he’d noticed from the driveway.

  He still stood at her door, the only entry to her apartment. Another glaring safety hazard.

  “Please tell me there’s a fire escape ladder outside your window,” he said as he took in the slanted walls, the single front window, itself an inconvenient dormer that jutted out from the roof like an eyesore, its only purpose to eat up more of her already cramped living space. “You do have another window, don’t you?”

  When she shook her head, the red curls cascading over her shoulders turned a lovely shade of copper under the dim lighting. “I don’t need a fire escape. I’m fine.”

  Which told him Tara was desperate to control the only way in. He’d noticed she’d faced Crazy Eights’ entrance like a hawk earlier. She didn’t like surprises. That was a hard way to live, always watching over your shoulder, waiting to be ambushed or apprehended. Which explained her panic attack.

  Renner drew in a deep breath and let her calm before he said what needed to be said. This place was a fire hazard. Treading carefully, he joined her in the kitchen. Make that kitchenette.

  Tiny office-sized refrigerator and coffee-maker on a roll-about cart to his right. Built-in combination range and stove straight ahead. Sink and three overhead cupboards to his left. Which, keeping in line with the DIY plumbing, no doubt put the bathroom through the door next to the range. Want to bet the bathroom utilities were on the same wall as the kitchen sink? This place was a dollhouse, not an apartment.

  Tugging one of two chairs from under the table, he straddled it, hugging the chairback while she fidgeted with the Keurig.

  “Hope you like mellow roast,” she muttered, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she leaned into her work. “That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Coffee’s coffee,” he replied, watching the heart-shaped backside presented to him now, and wishing they were past this awkward, nice-to-meet-you stage. She’d come onto him back at Crazy Eights. He wished she’d kiss him again.

  But yeah. Not going to happen. Rather than be caught looking, Renner took in the feminine touches throughout the place. Pristine cushions on the two kitchen chairs, dark navy blue with white dots. Matching placemats on the table. A single clean plastic plate, one glass, and a couple utensils on the drying rack alongside the sink.

  The place smelled of lemon Pine-Sol. He’d scrubbed enough of his mom’s floors growing up to ever forget the smell. No window in the kitchen, just a lightbar underneath the overhead cupboard above the sink. Yet green plants grew everywhere. By the sink. From a bright yellow pot on top the refrigerator. Over by the dormer. “You like green things.”

  “I do,” she said when she finally turned to face him. “They’re easy to take care of, and…” Her throat muscles worked overtime as she forced a swallow. “I’m sure sorry that I—”

  He raised both hands. “No need to explain. Trust me. I’ve got demons, too. But if you ever need someone to scream like a little girl…”

  The light came back on in her eyes. Her slender fingers went to her mouth. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. To my boss, thank you very much.”

  She’d said a lot of things then that weren’t in sync with her odd behavior now. Yet he wouldn’t ask again. Some things were hard to talk about, and there were all kinds of wars. A friend didn’t pry. Pandora’s box was better left unopened once you’d finally nailed it shut. If you could forget the ugly things that were in it, all the better.

  Tara didn’t seem to be at that point in her life. She swallowed, then rolled her shoulders like Alex did when he was stressed, as if unseen demons were riding her. Running one hand over her head, she captured her long mane into a ponytail that fell like so many scarlet strands of silk when she released it over her shoulder. Her eyes closed. Her chest heaved as she drew in a long, slow breath.

  Renner’s heart pounded at the ethereal sight in this cramped little kitchen. He looked away instead of opening his big mouth with a cheesy, ‘Hey, babe.’

  “Sugar or cream?” she asked, handing the first mug over.

  He took it from her trembling fingers, nice and easy so she’d have nothing to apologize for if it spilled in his lap. “Thanks, but no. Black’s good.”

  “But I’ve got them if you’d rather.”

  He didn’t dare tell her what sweetener he preferred. Not tonight and maybe not ever. “No, this is perfect.”

  She joined him at the table, her long fingers curved around her mug, her lips pursed
as she blew tendrils of steam away. “Tonight was crazy, huh?”

  He nodded, trying not to stare at her mouth and her lips. Tara had one of those mouths that made him wonder if she’d sucked her thumb as a kid. His sister had, which had led to a pronounced overbite and braces. Not that Tara had buck teeth. She didn’t. If anything, her teeth were white, straight, and picture perfect. Yet every word she spoke drew his attention to those lush full lips, and the way her mouth moved when she pronounced her consonants. God bless him if she ever pulled a spoiled brat routine and pouted. He’d be a goner, and he knew it.

  “You’ve got quite the bat cave up here.”

  Tara glanced over his shoulder into her crowded living area. “It works. Less to clean.”

  “Your landlord needs to install fire escape ladders, pronto.”

  “I know it’s not perfect.” She shrugged. “But Mr. Marchant’s been kind to me. He promised he’d add a fire escape before I moved in, but I…” She swallowed hard then.

  Renner gazed into his mug. “But what? You make sure you’re safe when you’re working a con, just not at home?” He kept his tone steady, not accusing. This wasn’t a confrontation.

  She nodded. “You’re right. I’ll talk with him again. He needs to make this right.”

  “He sure does.” Renner took a long, slow drink then. Giving her time. Letting her come to her own conclusions.

  “It’s just that...” Pursing her lips, Tara breathed on the steamy surface of her coffee. “I…”

  And Renner’s mind went there. To her mouth. Her lips. That kiss...

  But she’d stopped talking. He thought she’d confide in him, that she’d at least finish her sentence, but the more he waited, the less likely it seemed. She’d changed yet again, back to her confident self. That was the ruse, wasn’t it? Tara had no problem doing what she did best. She’d certainly held her own with Alex. She was at home on a ledge on high buildings because she was unreachable there. No one could get at her. She was free. Safe. And she’d been comfortable with Renner at her side.