Dee felt the vibration of Linc’s groan on her lips and knew she’d won.
Only you, she thought. He was the only man who mattered, the only one who gave her the release she longed for, needed, but, until him, could never find.
Beyond sex, Linc reached deeper. He touched her body, he touched her heart, he touched her soul.
~~~~
HOLDING DEE IN his arms, the steady rise and fall of their breathing in perfect sync, Linc’s heart began to slow, but his mind raced. Soon, as their heated skin cooled, they would need to move from the sofa or freeze.
Linc was in no hurry. Dee had shared more than her body, truly letting him inside for the first time, and he felt closer to her than ever before. He wanted to put off her inevitable post-sex need to flee as long as possible.
Didn’t matter that when Linc asked her to stay, she usually did. The longer they stayed where they were, the longer he could hope, for once, she might stay simply because she wanted to.
Now that he knew what Dee had been through, Linc better understood the genesis of her deep-seated trust issues, and why she insisted he needed a bodyguard. She was betrayed on every level by the people she thought were her friends.
Linc’s hand balled into a fist, his knuckles brushing against the small of Dee’s back. Marcus. She hadn’t mentioned his last name, undoubtedly a deliberate omission.
Even Linc, with only basic computer skills, wouldn’t need to search hard to find the information. Dee’s scumbag ex-boyfriend got off scot-free, but the incident would have made news. Add the salacious nature of the story and the son of a rear admiral, he could imagine the headlines splashed in newspapers and online.
Dee wouldn’t spend a lot of time obsessing about the past, but she was a private investigator, and smart. For her personal safety, she would keep track of her ex. Information, after all, was power.
A little peace of mind would be nice. Tomorrow, he would ask Noah Brennan to find out what Marcus was up to. With any luck, the bastard was doing twenty to life in prison. Better yet, moldering in a box six feet under.
Linc rubbed a hand over his eyes. He wasn’t a violent man by nature and sure as hell had never wished another human being dead. He waited for a flush of guilt, not the least surprised when none came.
“Cold.” Dee shivered, snuggling closer.
“The blankets are in the bedroom.”
Linc waited, knowing what was next.
“Mind if I stay?”
Dee wanted to stay the night, with him, in his bed? Not exactly a miracle, but the nearest Linc ever experienced. He stood, picking her up in his arms and headed for the stairs.
“Mind? Not at all.”
~~~~
CAREFUL NOT TO wake Dee, Linc eased from under the covers. He’d held her while she slept, grateful she could rest. He wasn’t as lucky.
Anger like nothing Linc had known swirled through his blood. The most satisfying solution would be to track down the source of his antipathy and beat the living daylights out of the sorry excuse for a man.
Dee wouldn’t thank him. Neither would his parents, coach, or agent. The only person he could imagine celebrating would be his next opponent when, due to Linc’s recent incarceration, was spared meeting him on the tennis court.
With no flesh, blood, or bone to punish, Linc needed a different way to expend his pent-up energy. A punching bag seemed a decent solution.
Maybe he was more of a hothead than he realized. Or he was a man who a few hours earlier listened to the woman he loved explain about the day she almost died.
Methodically, Linc wrapped his knuckles with tape before he slipped on a pair of boxing gloves. Slow and easy to start, he hit the bag with a practiced rhythm. Instead of thump, thump, thump, he heard, I love Dee, I love Dee, I love Dee.
With each punch, the speed of his hands increased as the hate in his blood dissipated. If Marcus walked into the room, Linc would tear him a new one. But Dee’s attacker wasn’t here, and he didn’t want to waste any emotion on a sub-human piece of shit.
Love was light, hate, darkness. Linc wouldn’t forget. If necessary, he would protect Dee, physically and emotionally with his last breath. But he would rather live in the sun, not the shadows. He wanted to live with the woman he loved, forever.
“Well, what do you know. Love knocked the hate right out of me.” Linc snorted, glad no one was around. He hit the bag one more time. “When I fall, I turn into a first-class sap.”
Linc headed for the door, intent on telling Dee how he felt, then stopped as common sense replaced enthusiasm. She wouldn’t be an easy sell. She would argue, curse, threaten. She would swear he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had. But if he were crazy, he wasn’t alone.
Linc saw the truth every time Dee looked at him. She loved him. He could wait to hear her say the words, though Lord knows patience wasn’t his greatest virtue.
Taking a free weight from the rack, Linc began a set of curls as he pictured Dee in his bed. Not just tonight, but every night, for the rest of their lives.
~~~~
LINC OPENED THE bedroom door with care, hoping Dee was still asleep. After a shower in the bathroom next to the gym, he was clean, refreshed, and anxious to crawl under the covers next to the woman he loved.
If Dee was awake, all the better. He could start his campaign to show her how he felt with actions, if not words.
The first thing Linc noticed was the empty bed. She was probably in the bathroom. Or snuck down to the kitchen for something to eat. Then, he saw the note propped against the pillow.
Dee didn’t write notes, she said whatever she wanted, right to his face. Yet, he couldn’t argue with the evidence right in front of him. Taking a deep breath, Linc picked up the paper.
I want to say how grateful I am. You, Lincoln James, are proof good men still walk the earth. Too good for me.
Linc’s head fell forward, his chin hitting his chest. Waiting a beat, he read on.
Call me a coward. Call me anything you want, I won’t blame you. Slipping away in the middle of the night is not the actions of a brave woman. Ending a relationship with a note is childish and cruel.
Color me all the above.
Don’t bother looking for a reason, Linc. Any answers you find won’t help. Believe me, I’m not worth the effort.
Dee
Linc read the note again and again. Nothing made sense, yet the meaning was clear. Dee was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.
Son of a bitch.
Crumpling the paper in his hand, Linc hurled the ball across the room. She sucker-punched him without leaving a mark. At least not one visible to the human eye.
They were done. Over. The end. Linc refused to play the fool. Not even for the woman he loved.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
~~~~
“You’re miserable. Linc is miserable. I’m miserable. Don’t get me started on how Bryce, Andi, and Calder feel.”
For over a week, Dee had ignored her friends. They called, they texted, pounded on her door, to no avail. Finally, Destry camped out in the hall until she had no recourse but to finally face the music.
Dee took a seat behind her desk, but the motel room was too small. Try as she might, she couldn’t avoid the sting of Destry’s angry glare. She told Linc to paint her as the villain. Apparently, he’d done a good job.
Behind a deadpan expression, Dee pretended the censure didn’t hurt.
“Let me guess,” she shrugged. “Your sisters are miserable, too.”
“Well, not Bryce. Between the baby and wedding, she’s hormonally incapable of anything but joy.”
“Lucky Bryce,” Dee grumbled.
“Ah ha!” Destry jabbed a finger in Dee’s face. “You are unhappy.”
“What happened to miserable?”
“Nothing, unfortunately.” Ready to do battle, Destry placed her hands on her hips. “Why, why, why did you break up with Linc?”
“You know why
.”
“Did you tell him?”
Dee nodded.
“Everything?”
“He would have stayed out of obligation.”
“Stubborn woman.” Her anger replaced with frustration, Destry sat on the edge of the desk. “May I share a bit of wisdom handed to me by Mrs. F.?”
Dee nodded. How could she refuse anything from Mrs. Finch, even secondhand?
“No one is guaranteed happiness. So, when you find some, hold on for dear life and savor every second.”
“I want to be happy,” Dee insisted. “But not at Linc’s expense.”
“If you had a year to live, who would you want by your side?”
“Linc, but—”
“How about five years?” Destry steamrolled on. “Or ten?”
Dee didn’t have to think twice.
“Linc.”
Understanding in her eyes, Destry placed her hand on Dee’s.
“Stop worrying about what will happen ten, twenty years down the road. Grab today.”
Dee touched her mouth. She was smiling.
“In other words, grab Linc.”
“Now you’re talking.” Destry nodded toward Dee’s phone. “Don’t dilly dally. Linc leaves for Germany tomorrow morning.”
“How long will he be away?”
“Plans to be back for Bryce’s wedding.” Destry shoved the phone at Dee. “Linc’s head isn’t in the game. Do you want to be the reason he loses the tournament?”
“Blackmail.”
“Whatever it takes.” Destry gave her a hug. “I’ve done my part to help pull your head from your backside. The rest is up to you.”
The room was quiet with Destry gone. Too quiet. Dee was left with two choices, follow her heart, or go back to where she was before Linc unceremoniously brought love to her solitary existence.
Picking up her phone, Dee dialed before she could chicken out. She chose love—if Linc would give her another chance.
“Hello.”
Startled, Dee almost hung up. Linc never answered on the first ring.
“It’s me.” She cleared her throat. “Dee.”
“Caller ID, remember?”
“Right.” Breathe, damn it. “I thought you might have blocked my number.”
“I’m a busy man. What do you want?”
Dee deserved the chill she felt down her spine. After all, the ice in Linc’s voice was her doing.
“If you’ll let me, I’d like to explain.”
“Your letter said everything I needed to hear.”
“I’m begging you, Linc. Give me a few minutes of your time.”
“You’re begging me?” Linc scoffed. “Ironic.”
Dee didn’t know what he meant. Did he want more? Fine.
“Do you want me to crawl? Say the word.”
“Best to leave my options open.” Linc paused. “I’ll be at the Wayside Compound for the next hour. Wait in the lobby.”
Before Dee could answer, Linc ended the call.
“Okay, Lincoln. I hope you’re ready for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, because here I come.”
Dee didn’t bother to change. Linc enjoyed when she dressed up, but he fell for the woman who lived in jeans, leather jackets, and scuffed Army boots. If she would win him back, she needed to be herself.
After a glance in the mirror and a quick fluff of her hair, Dee slipped on her black bomber jacket, grabbed her gun, and was on her way. As she put the key in the lock, she felt a fission of awareness along the back of her neck.
The hallway was empty, but Dee couldn’t shake the feeling something wasn’t right. Probably nerves. Cautiously, as she inched toward the stairs, she slipped her weapon from the holster at her waist.
Suddenly, the door to her left opened. A knife slashed through the air, driving into her shoulder. As her assailant pulled out the blade, Dee dove to the ground, rolled, lifted her gun, and fired.
“You shot at me!” Amelia Moore screeched. The knife still clutched in one hand, she used the other to check for damage. “At my face! My beautiful face? What if you hit me?”
Dee grimaced. She kept her gun trained on Amelia, ignoring the steady flow of blood dripping down the fingers of her left hand.
“Drop the knife, Amelia. I put the first bullet in the wall by choice. If you make me fire a second, your face will be the least of your worries.”
“I saw the picture of you and Linc. Kissing.” Amelia shuddered. “I don’t know what he sees in you.”
“No accounting for taste.”
“He’s mine. Always has been.” Amelia started to sob. “You have to die.”
“Not today.”
Dee kicked out, knocking Amelia flat on her back. The impact sent the knife skidding backward, coming to a halt out of the flailing woman’s reach.
A little woozy, Dee straddled Amelia’s waist. A knee on each arm, she sat on the model’s chest and took out her phone.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
Dee gave the operator her information.
“Stay on the line. The police and an ambulance are on the way.”
“Tell them to hurry.”
Dee concentrated on her breathing, willing herself not to pass out. To stay alert, she thought of Linc. He’d be angry when she didn’t show. She almost smiled. At least she had a good excuse.
The sound of sirens reached her ears, and Dee said a prayer of thanks. She might have died before she could tell Linc the truth.
Never again, she promised herself. Whatever time she had, sixty days or sixty years, from now on, she wouldn’t let fear rule her heart. She chose life. She chose love.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
~~~~
ALL DEE WANTED was to get out of the stupid hospital gown, get into her own clothes—bloodstains and all—and go home.
The chaos of the emergency room she could handle. The antiseptic smell with underlying notes of sick people and their disgusting bodily fluids, not so much.
However, she knew the routine. Bureaucracy on the hospital’s part, procedure on the police side, kept her sitting in the curtained cubicle long past what she deemed necessary.
“You have my statement, Officer Blake. The incident was fairly cut and dried.”
Bad joke, but Dee couldn’t resist.
“Cut,” the woman snickered. “Funny.”
“I try,” Dee shrugged, then groaned. Note to self, move shoulder as little as possible for the next twenty-four hours. “You should catch my whole act sometime. I’m a riot.”
“I’ll bet.” Officer Blake looked down at her notepad, all business. “Amelia Moore rented the empty apartment down the hall from yours a week ago. You didn’t see her until today?”
“Wish I had.”
“No witnesses to the altercation.”
Dee loved cop-speak. Altercation covered everything from a non-violent argument to deadly road rage.
“The people who live in the building mind their own business. Yelling, or gunfire, they keep their doors shut and their heads down.” Dee sighed. “Any doubt I’m the victim?”
“Amelia Moore gave a rambling confession. She was taken to Bellevue for observation. Her mental state will be determined before proper charges are filed.”
In Dee’s opinion, Amelia’s sanity wasn’t the question but a straight-out fact. However, she would leave the technical term up to the doctors.
“You discharged your weapon into the wall. Why?”
“Seriously?” Of all the things that transpired, Dee’s use of her gun seemed the least important. “You should thank me. If I’d killed her, you’d be stuck with a hell of a lot more paperwork.”
“Can’t argue.” Officer Blake closed her notebook. “We’re done for now. If I have more questions, I’ll be in touch.”
“You have my number.”
The officer paused as she pulled back the curtain.
“Ms. Wakefi
eld? Just between you and me?”
“Yes?”
“Nice shooting.”
Dee couldn’t argue. In the split second after she aimed her weapon, she made a choice not to harm Amelia Moore. She believed she made the right one.
The resident who initially treated Dee, a dead ringer for Doogie Houser’s younger brother, entered the cubicle. She had to give him credit, he already had the vague doctor’s smile down pat.
“We’d like to keep you overnight for observation,” he said as he checked her chart.
“No.”
The young man blinked as if he’d never heard her response before.
“You lost a significant amount of blood, Ms. Wakefield”
“You assured me the wound only affected the tissue, no muscle damage. Correct?”
“Well, yes.”
The poor kid kept referring to Dee’s chart as if he’d find a way to deal with her in the fine print.
“I’m stitched up. Feel fine. The nurse gave me a nice dose of antibiotics. Just sign my release papers, and you can move on to someone who really needs your attention.”
“Says here you refused any form of pain medicine.”
“I can live with a little pain,” Dee assured him. “Better than the alternative.”
“The alternative?” The doctor’s frown deepened.
“Death.”
Dee didn’t feel an ounce of remorse when the doctor paled. If he were serious about a career in medicine, he needed to toughen. She felt she’d done her small part.
“A nurse will bring in the release papers for you to sign.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Charming.” Linc strolled into the room. “I don’t think the doctor gets your sense of humor, Delphinia.”
“What are you doing here?” Dee asked, hoping she wasn’t hallucinating.
“In case you forgot, we had an appointment. One you failed to keep.” Casually, as though he visited her in the emergency room every day, Linc plucked a nonexistent piece of lint from the sleeve of his suede bomber jacket. “Kind of an extreme method to get out of seeing me. Next time, just call and cancel.”
SIX DAYS Page 18
