Renner (In the Company of Snipers Book 19)

by Irish Winters

  Right or wrong, a definite high came with a mission that ended in an elimination instead of a jail sentence. The culmination of years of training and experience had paid off. Not that the press would ever focus on details like that. Those jackals were after fresh meat, which meant they’d gleefully spotlight the atrocity Tom and his men had done to end Montego, instead of reporting Tara’s bravery in saving Kelsey’s life, or Seth’s and Beckam’s gentle care of Shy’s body and the tortured men they’d rescued. God knew the press had enough weird, crazy footage of Tom and his men marching into police custody while belting out one military song after another, from the ‘Army Goes Rolling Along’ to the Corps’ proud ‘The Halls of Montezuma’.

  Renner’d had one of those full-body cringes when he’d heard Tom and his demented followers singing the USMC song. Because conquering heroes, Tom and his men were not. Yes, they’d done what needed to be done, and they’d ended a vicious killer. But they’d sunk to Montego’s level to do it, and that was the difference between them and Tara, Seth, Beckham, and Aaron.

  Which, at a fundamental level, also explained why Jorge was still alive, and why tax-paying Americans would now pay for his living expenses. Because Renner was as bad—or as good—as anyone on The TEAM. Simply because ninety-nine percent of American servicemen and women the world over operated according to strict ROEs, rules of engagement, based on justice and honor. They had a code, and they upheld that code even in the worst of times.

  But Montego was dead. That much was certain, and Renner felt like basking in the night’s success, another odd sensation for the loner he’d become. Usually, he would be in bed by now, belly up and snoring. Drunk and passed out. But because Tara’d unknowingly had possession of his flask until now, and he hadn’t thought to ask her for it, his mind was rather clear. He could see.

  His fingertips still itched to trace the smooth skin on her back, to slide up under the sleek red hair spilling over her shoulders like a cape, and massage her shoulders. Or something else. Damn it, he wanted to lay her down and eat his way up her delectable body. Instead he waited and watched the gas log put on a show that almost looked natural. He watched how that fire cast golden light into the room and over Tara, adding golden hints of flame to her fiery tresses.

  “No, I’m good. Coffee would just keep me awake,” she answered, her voice weary and—pensive.

  Okay, no foreplay. No eating. She was tired. He could live with that. Women were never as horny as men anyway; they weren’t made that way.

  “Shower’s down the hall,” he murmured, keeping his tone passive and low. “Clean towels are in the linen closet just outside the bathroom.”

  He wasn’t going to assume their previous close encounters meant anything to her, although, they’d both meant the world to him. Kissing Tara had breathed life into the hollowed-out pit of a soul he’d come back with from the wars. She’d filled him with something he wasn’t ready to let go. He wasn’t nearly as depleted as he’d been when this whole mess started, and it wasn’t just the prospect of sex. He had no doubt sex with Tara would be off the charts, but it was quiet times like this that meant something more, something different.

  That was the thing about the excess adrenaline still roaming his body. It amped a guy up, made him want to screw the daylights out of the first woman that came along. Not that Renner had ever indulged in the debauchery of post-combat sex, but the battle was real. Mankind might build rockets to take him to the moon, but deep down, he was still a primitive SOB with a hard-on from hell in his pants. He was the conquering hero, and Tara was sweet and close and...

  No. Just, no. Renner scrunched his face, blinking to get his mind out of the gutter. He took a slow breath of reality. Tara was one hell of a survivor, and yeah, she was here with him in his house, but he would not put his best moves on her. She deserved better. A helluva lot better. They needed to be able to relax with each other. Talk, just for the sake of talk.

  “I’ve got an extra room. Stay here and get warm, I’ll go make the bed,” Renner said because he had to, now that he’d made the offer. The spare bed was basically just an extra mattress he’d bought. Still in its original plastic wrap, he’d laid it on the new box springs he’d bought the same day. A new headboard leaned against the opposite wall in his spare room. He could have that bed put together in under thirty minutes, have it made by then, too.

  “No, don’t,” she said as she turned her shoulders to him. “Please. Let’s not make this any bigger than it has to be.”

  “Well, okay.” Renner sat cross-legged beside her, his hands on his knees, wondering what she’d meant by that.

  Tara smiled that same sad smile she’d given him up in her attic that first night. That ‘not now and maybe not later either’ smile. “I don’t know how you do it,” she murmured.

  Renner had no idea how he did it, either. But hey. He’d been going without sex for a couple years now. He could do it again. Not like he had much choice given how he didn’t go looking for it like he once had. The perks of drinking. Either you partied with another alcoholic who was female, or you withdrew into yourself and became a loner because there was nothing nice about that female drunk the day after. Drawing in a deep breath, he stared at the fire, not ready to open his mouth and stick his foot in.

  “How did you carry on after losing your dad?”

  “What?” he asked at the sudden shift in conversation. Okay, maybe just in the conversation he thought they were having.

  Her shoulders lifted. “Your dad. Do you ever wish you’d made different choices? That if you had, maybe he’d still be alive?”

  “You been talking to my mom?” Not likely. There hadn’t been time.

  She shook her head. “No, but my mom said my dad’s been sick, and I think it’s because of me.”

  “And somehow you found out my dad’s gone.” Renner noticed how the flame burned blue in the heart of the fake log instead of bright red or orange.

  “I’m sorry. Kelsey told me. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

  He shook his head even as he said, “No. Not a secret at all, and I do miss him, but no. Nothing I did contributed to his death. He was on duty during the last presidential inauguration. You know how crowded DC gets during official events. Some asshat just happened to bring a gun. When he pointed it at the First Lady and screamed, the Secret Service closed in to protect her, and my dad closed in on the guy with the gun.”

  “And he shot your dad. I remember now. I’m so sorry.”

  Renner’s chest expanded with yet another deep breath that never came close to easing the pain or the loss that still sat like a brick on his chest after all these years. But he’d been raised by an Irish woman with the love of God in her heart, and he knew better than to wallow in self-pity. Yes, they’d all cried plenty back then, but not a day went by Renner hadn’t thanked that same God for the kind of man and father Cody Graves had been.

  “The thing is…” he said slowly. Thoughtfully. “Mom and I always knew Dad might go down in the line of duty. He and Mom talked about it with Mo and me when we were old enough to understand. And yeah, I miss him. I do. But don’t mistake missing him for fear or depression or any of that crap.”

  “Is that why you drink?”

  Renner shook his head. “Folks might think that. It probably makes sense on the outside, but no. I started drinking when I was a kid, long before I joined the Corps or lost Dad. You know, everyone else is doing it, I dare you, so blah, blah, blah…”

  “If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you do that too?” she asked softly, teasing.

  He grinned at her. “You sound just like Mom, but yeah. I was a pretty dumb kid. I probably would have jumped off that cliff back then, just to prove I could do it and they couldn’t.”

  Renner rubbed the center of his breastbone over that hole in his heart. “You have to understand, Dad was a father to be proud of, and I still am. He served his country and his president, and he loved Mom and us kids. Ju
st because he died before his time doesn’t make me one of those crybabies who needs rehab and drugs or alcohol because Daddy died. I don’t, and that’s not why I drink. Honest. When he died, I knew it was up to me to honor him by living the way he did. By stepping up. He was the reason I joined the Corps in the first place, and yeah. He also knew I might go down in the line of duty. I mean, we’re all going to die, right? The best thing Dad ever taught me was to live so well that, when it’s your time to go, you leave this life knowing you’ve done your best every single day.”

  “Was he always bigger than life?”

  Renner nodded, remembering. Aching. “Absolutely. I swear he was ten feet tall.”

  That summed up Metro PD Detective Cody Graves perfectly. Dark-red hair. Always smiling. Always bigger than life. A man’s man who knew how to fix plumbing and cars, bikes and squeaky doors. Who knew how to pitch a perfect fast ball. Always there for his kids and wife until the day he wasn’t.

  “Sounds like my dad,” Tara said wistfully.

  “I guess that’s how all good dads must look to their kids. He coached my city league baseball team. We took regional that year,” Renner said on a sigh. “What’s up with your dad?”

  “Mom said he’s sick,” she whispered. “While I’ve been off living my life like an inconsiderate selfish brat, thinking everything’s about me, he’s been worried about me and…” She leaned her chin to her fist, her elbow already cocked at her knee. “I’m the reason he’s sick. I know it.”

  “Parents are like that. They worry themselves sick even when they shouldn’t. So call him. Talk to him. He’ll feel better and so will you. I know Mom worried every time I deployed. I thought of not telling her when I was leaving, that it’d be easier if she didn’t know. But I’m pretty sure she would’ve kicked my ass if I had.”

  “What makes some kids so stupid?” Tara asked quietly, still mesmerized by the flames dancing across the gas log.

  “They’re not stupid. They’re like you and me, just trying to figure things out.” But then he stuck his foot in his mouth and asked, “Where was your coach when you were out being stupid?”

  She didn’t seem to notice his inadvertent blunder at calling her stupid. “Trying to get through to me. Threatening to pull me off the team if I didn’t shape up. Badgering me to practice harder and longer and… I just wanted to ski, Renner. But joining the Olympic team killed the joy of winter for me. It turned the sport I loved into drudgery and blisters and shin splints, every damned day. Some days my ass hurt from falling on it so many times. I just wanted to live my life my way for a change, you know? Go back in time to laughing all the way downhill, then skiffing in sideways at the last minute, braking just in time to hit the lift lines and start all over again. That’s why I drank and acted out, and that’s what led me into Hell. Like a stuck-up Hollywood diva, I wanted it all. I rebelled.”

  He let her vent, wishing she’d actually look at him. But maybe it was better this way. Confession was good for the soul. Didn’t mean you had to make eye contact to do it.

  “My name is Renner Graves,” he said carefully. Deliberately. “And I am an alcoholic.”

  That got her attention.

  “You’re right, Tara,” he said evenly, her bright eyes on him now. “I’m an alcoholic. I didn’t really realize it until tonight, at least I didn’t want to admit it, but yeah. I wanted that flask, only it was in my jacket, and you were wearing it, and—”

  “And you didn’t want to ask me for it because you didn’t want me to think you were—”

  “Wrong,” he finished for her, staring into soft blue eyes that had gone misty around the edges. “I’m wrong and you’re right and... Jesus, this is hard.” He interlocked his fingers, his elbows on his knees, and took a deep breath, sick at what he’d just admitted but never more certain it was right. “Yeah, it’s true. I have a drinking problem. I am an alcoholic.”

  He swallowed hard, thinking on everything he was giving up with those few words. The fire in that first satisfying shot. The gradual buzz and the hum of the second and third. The fourth. The comradery of alcoholics the world over. The taste of dogshit in his mouth and hair on his teeth the morning after...

  “I can help,” she offered meekly.

  He gave her the flat palm of his hand and a stern headshake. “Nope. I have to do this alone. Thanks, but… you know that.”

  She nodded, her mouth skewed to the side like she was biting the inside of her cheek. “It’ll be hard.”

  Another big sigh. “Yeah, well, so was the Crucible. If I can do that—”

  “Wait, what?”

  “The Crucible. It’s a kick-ass test recruits go through before they earn the right to be called Marines. There is something you can do now though, you know, to help.”

  She climbed off the floor and right onto his thighs where he wanted her. “Yes?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  He placed his palms on her hips, his thumbs skimming over the crease between her belly and her thighs. These pants had to go, that practical bra, too.

  As if she’d read his mind, Tara leaned into his face and whispered into his mouth, “Help me out of these clothes?”

  He undressed her in seconds. She did the same with him. And they were on the carpet in front of the fire, bare-assed naked and sparks dancing in her eyes. Like at Crazy Eights and in the hospital, she took control, straddling his hips, her body so perfect she was making him cry.

  For reasons he didn’t want to examine, she needed to be in control, and Renner went willingly where she led. Sex was never about domination. It was play, pure and simple. Exploration and that elusive sense of communion. Not work. Besides, she really should’ve gone back to the hospital. That bump on the back of her head was no small thing. He didn’t want her on her back… at least, not yet.

  But when she tipped forward, her breasts fell soft and heavy in his happy hands, her nipples peaked and hard and—

  Christ, resistance truly was futile. He took gentle possession, rolling one perfect nipple between his finger and thumb while he swallowed the other. While he held her as tightly as he dared, ever conscious of her cracked ribs.

  The heavenly scent of her skin filled his nose. Part feminine sweat, part some nameless flowery bouquet, he suckled until she pulled back. But then he sucked harder, loving the sound coming from the back of her throat as he consumed first one, then the other tip, stretching her breast. Daring her to come. But if those noises meant what he thought they meant…

  “Yesssss,” she hissed, her hair flung over her shoulders. An actual glow suffused every inch of her body, announcing her coming. Then, “Oh, Renner, yes!”

  He let her breast go with a satisfied pop, grinning at the luscious sight of his woman in the throes of one quick as hell lightning strike. Her nipples were dark and swollen, and he was one damned happy man.

  Still throwing aftershocks, she began to move, rubbing against him and driving him nuts. Sliding one hand between their bellies, he found what he’d wanted. She was steaming hot and ready. That alone, just touching her, told him he wouldn’t last long enough for her round two if he didn’t hurry.

  Renner eased Tara up just high enough to plant himself where he wanted to go. He meant to take this next part as slow as he could. She’d been with a monster, and she was still recovering from her recent encounter with the bastard. Renner didn’t want what they did to each other now to remind her of anything that asshat did. But day-um. Tara wasn’t holding anything back. With the sweetest feminine grunt he’d ever heard, she impaled her slick body onto him and he was in heaven. So tight. So sweet. He closed his eyes at the sensations lapping up his spine and tightening every muscle in his body. One thrust was all it would take and this first time would be over.

  He tried to hold on but she started to move. Up and down. In and out. Making those same little needy sounds. Those adorable ohs and ahs and groans and whimpers and—

  She screamed, and he exploded along
with her, right through the roof and into the wintry sky like a blazing pair of rockets bound for heaven. Renner held onto her for the ride of his life, his fingers dug into the cheeks of her ass as deeply as her fingertips stabbed his shoulders.

  God. Damn. Yessss.

  An annoying bell sounded in the far back of his mind, warning him of—something. But logic had taken a backseat during the consummate pleasure of here and now. Tara’s pretty face was all he could see, her hair, her eyes. Pleasing her was his only ambition; her satisfaction, a goal he would excel at. The sense of foreboding faded. How could he think with this goddess riding him, her silky soft tangles pouring over his face and chest like the softest scarlet rain from heaven?

  His nostrils flared at the musky sweet scent of sex, and Renner was ready to go again. He didn’t understand how, but he was, and she was right there with him. Rocking onto him. Her palms splayed over his chest, and her eyes closed. His hands filled with her backside, and his mouth suckling at her generous breast. But that gentle, satisfied smile on her lips was what spurred him on. Urged him. Made him thrust harder and deeper. Faster. Intending this one only for her, his queen. His goddess.

  She made that whining, coming sound again, and—yes, yes, yes! She came all over him, melting like honey. Damn, damn, damn. Life didn’t get any better than pleasuring the woman who’d brought sunshine back into his life. Renner held her hips as she came undone, her femininity squeezing him, milking him, urging him upward with her soft feminine growls and groans and…

  It began again. A lick of lightning started up from his tailbone, rocketing skyward. Into her, his only universe. Only her...

  Jesus, he flew and he was very sure she flew with him this time, too. How could she do that? What a rush!