An Eye for Danger (22 page)

Sam stared down at me, his eyes dilated with hope, waiting for me to wake up from the kiss, from three years of hibernation.

The hat and bag dropped. The door slammed shut. The small distance between his bruised body and my aching one sealed.

He engulfed my mouth with moist, voracious lips, as his hand cemented between my shoulder blades, pushing me higher onto my toes to match his force. His tongue delved into my mouth at every angle, but I couldn't match his pace.

In our fervor I nipped his lower lip, sank my fingers into his thick hair, clawed the back of his shoulder, urged my breasts against his chest. His hands slid inside my shirt, moving up and down my spine. The sensation of his calloused fingers seeking my skin dizzied me. We couldn't get close enough. Not with all his damn layers and Kevlar.

Latching to my hips, he pulled me against his pelvis and I slid against his erection. He moaned, in pain or pleasure, I couldn't tell. Didn't want to ask.

My head fell back, surrendering my neck to his scoping mouth. I unlatched the buttons of his coat, pushed open the lapels, then attacked the next layer. As I unzipped his hoodie, he unbuttoned my shirt. But when I ripped at the Velcro straps to free him he moaned again, gripping his side this time. Ramsey had said it would be weeks, not days, before his ribs fully healed.

Still, Sam's body slammed into me, his skin warm and tight against mine. He cupped my ass and raised my thigh higher, taking on a rhythm against my body that made my breath catch.

Hearing my excitement, he walked me backwards, pressing us into my bedroom. For a second, he stiffened with pain and hovered over my mouth, visibly wincing. Then he dove again. He'd tear himself apart to be with me. He'd tear us both apart. A quick turn in the sheets, and he'd be out that door.

I bit his shoulder. His mouth discovered my breasts through the lace, rippled my skin as his teeth caught the peak of my nipple. Any further and I'd collapse to his will. And he'd collapse with punctured lungs.

Walls, where the hell are your walls?

Yet I couldn't speak. We were already breathless from kissing, and I couldn't send him away. Not when I felt my body liquefy, answer his every demand, ache for more of him. All of him.

But this was a lie. The truth was Sam had to go. Would go, regardless of me or any passion exchanged on that mattress. And in leaving post coital, he'd crush what was left of me.

"Sam." My rough whisper only made him drive harder. I raised my forearms to break his hold. "Sam, stop."

Stepping back, I touched my swollen lips and looked to him, my chest rising and falling. He licked his lips, his chest dewy from our embrace. Blood pulsed deep in my groin.

I broke eye contact and hurried to the front door, forced myself to open it. I'd shove him out, despite my inner voice.
Stay with me.
I refused to play his heroine or savior or prey. Or captor.

He lifted the Kevlar vest off the ground, gathered his clothes, the bag, the hat, and then dragged himself the small distance to the door. I kept my eyes on the locks I'd throw after his escape. Sam dropped his head against the doorframe. I could feel his gaze digging into me, reasoning this madness: to stay or go, seduce and abandon her, or leave her whole. He started to speak but let the words go.

Two steps out the door, he paused, his naked torso pulsing with air. An invisible thread between us yanked at my chest with his every breath. My voice burned in my throat to call him back.

I shut the door and set the locks.

***

"You're early. I'm honored." Stone's cheeks flushed as he pulled a chair for me to sit at the coffee shop table next to a drafty window.

"Being late makes me tense."

The crispness of his blue eyes stunned me. His cable-knit turtleneck with gray merino wool looked warm enough to stand the twenty-degree temperature drop that hailed an early winter but was clearly above his pay grade. Then he shifted, revealing his badge and gun holster attached to his belt. He was making their presence known.

The teenage girls nearby noticed, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

I waved my wallet in the air. "My treat."

"I'm the one who owes." His posture straightened. Clearly, a little friendliness on my part went a long way with Stone. "I took the liberty of ordering two decaf teas, assuming we could both use less stress. Besides, I get plenty of oil at the squad house."

"Thanks, but I need a gallon of caffeine if I'm going to get anything done today." I turned so he didn't see my frown. Controlling must be a job requirement for detectives.

The coffee shop bustled with locals twitching from triple-shot, over-sugared drinks. Two arguing boys stood with a mom who couldn't get their orders straight. Local schoolgirls laughed too intimately with their male counterparts. Any other day, such stimulus would overwhelm a PTSD patient like me, but today I felt underwhelmed. My body was still stuck in Sam's kiss. He'd proven stronger than antidepressants.

I had to yell my order over the din of customers and buzzing espresso machines. "Chai tea latte. No water, no foam."

Despite a backlog of cups on the bar, my drink was soon slid toward me. Being a local secured the best treatment, fortunately, and I tipped well to acknowledge that courtesy.

I turned back to my date. And splashed the latte on my blue trench coat, as Stone nearly stepped on my toes.

"Hope that didn't burn you." He grabbed napkins off the counter and wiped my lapels, as I swallowed my biting objections.

"I'm sure it was an accident."

"I'll remember to announce myself next time. To you and the staff." He nodded to the barista and slid a couple of bills into the tip jar, but left our two teas on the counter. "Let's go somewhere quieter. I'd like to show you a surprise."

He pulled me outside, where he cut through the cold air toward a shiny Crown Victoria. "By the way, that coat you gave us turned out clean. CSU mixed up the reports. Gunpowder residue appeared around the bullet hole, not the sleeves, which means your kidnapper isn't our shooter. At least not at the park."

I sipped what was left of my latte. Maybe Stone knew I'd called Houston. No, no way Houston had confessed such a conduct violation to a man who'd have him axed. I'd underestimated Houston in the beginning, but found new respect for him when he'd snuck around protocols to convey the park investigation was at a standstill and that Petosa's murder was being handled by top brass, not Stone. A real hound dog, that kid. Nothing like Stone, who was pure wolf.

"Now I see why he was hiding me from the bad guy," I said carelessly, daydreaming of Sam's visceral reactions to Stone and surmising how he'd earned the name 'The Prick.'

"They're both bad guys, Julie. He was hiding himself and using you as a shield. There's nothing honorable about that. What I don't understand is why his blood wasn't all over you, or why his prints were at Petosa's murder scene."

Stone opened my door. Then he looked back to see me glued to the sidewalk. Ten feet behind him.

At that point, I wished I'd brought Max. He'd know whether to get into Stone's car or not.
He's playing you again, Jules.
Problem was, Sam might not be clear of the neighborhood yet. That and I needed to know if I was clear of Stone's investigation.

"No more shop talk, I promise," said Stone. "Think of this as a personal favor."

CHAPTER 16

"Sorry the scenery isn't better," Stone said as he gunned past a garbage truck and we bounced through a pothole. Our drive across town had been a series of half-empty side streets and garbage-strewn alleyways. Cops always knew how to avoid traffic.

He veered onto a main road, then slipped into a silver-skinned office complex in lower Manhattan, cruising down a narrow passage and circling lower and lower into an endless parking garage.

He parked and turned to me. "You'll never guess what awaits you."

Instinctively, I searched my pockets for anything sharp as we crossed the parking lot. He strode ahead with buzzing enthusiasm. I reminded myself this was the man who'd sent me dinner, given me advice on security locks, and called nightly to check that I was alive.

He boarded the elevator first. "You're tense. Might want to lay off the caffeine."

"Elevators." I shrugged, pretending phobia and climbing aboard tentatively.

In truth, I was thinking of my last ride with Sam, his hand clasping mine, his lips warming my chilled skin. Then my icy response. Clearly I needed more practice in the romance department. Without the kidnapping part.

When the elevator doors screeched open again, we were assaulted by yelling, fighting, growling. Panic constricted my throat and I moved to the back corner of the elevator. The cacophony sounded like a dog-fighting arena.

"We're expected," said Stone, reaching for my arm and escorting me off the elevator like one might pull a child toward the dentist's office. "You're going to love this."

We approached a glass wall, and I finally saw them. Dogs, everywhere. Bounding, leaping, wolfing down treats, lapping up water. A daisy-dotted sign stuck to the glass announced 'Trip's Doggie Daycare', a gymnasium-size room that seemed to take up half the skyscraper's footprint. At the front desk, a dimple-cheeked young woman wearing a blue tee wrote nametags for us and stamped dog smiles on them. She didn't look old enough to order beer let alone handle the flurry of canines.

"Figured this was just your kind of place." Stone stepped in front of me, fisting the nametag he clearly didn't intend to wear, and opened one of the double glass doors. "Head for the back hall."

We cut past the doggie jungle gym and a gated area that corralled small dogs, mostly overdressed Chihuahuas. To my left, a golden and a Rottweiler were chasing balls into a kiddy pool as a young man tossed more balls into the air than there were mouths to catch them, which only induced more barking mania. To my right, a spotted blue heeler tore into a cloth Frisbee with frustrated jerks for unfulfilled quests.
Buddy, I know the feeling.

Stone took my elbow and we entered a narrow cement corridor that echoed with yelps. At the end of the hall, he opened the door to a five-by-six room from which softer cries emerged and a rush of balmy air warmed my face. A woman with red hair, a South Beach tan, and Bermuda shorts fed a puppy with a pink baby bottle. She smelled of coconut oil despite the 60-degree temperature outside.

At her feet a dozen butter-colored puppies plodded about and stumbled over one another. Adorable. Stone squatted to tickle a pup, which stuck out its tongue to lick him.

"The mamma died after giving birth," he explained, avoiding the puppy kisses.

"The family was moving abroad, so they surrendered the litter to us," the woman added, as if they'd practiced this pitch on a few other suckers. "But there's always a volunteer willing to spare time, and the adoption list is almost full." She nodded at Stone, as if he were responsible for the humanitarian effort.

"May I?" I asked. She handed me a bottle as I caught a pup by its scruff and set him in the crook of my arm. I shook the bottle till a drop formed at the nipple, then set it to the dog's nose. He sniffed, licked, and suckled. "Volunteered at a shelter for a year," I said when Stone lifted his brows. Never mind that the hundreds of volunteer hours never eased my guilt for Luke's accident or cured my PTSD.

"Try it." I offered him the bottle.

Stone threw his palms up. "I'll stick with busting down doors and cuffing perps. Besides, I prefer big dogs." He tugged at the pup's paw. "Maybe when you grow up we can hang out. But try to stay cute so you get lots of attention from the ladies." He beamed at me. I was being corralled too.

"So this is the favor," I said.

"Precisely. Do me the honor of picking one out. For my sister's kids."

"Careful," I said, relieved not to be adopting another canine. "Goldens aren't automatically submissive, especially around poky little fingers."

"Depends which pup you choose," said the woman, her bleached teeth showing. "Dominant or submissive, there's both in every litter. Just like people."

"That's why I brought my secret weapon." Stone jerked his head toward me.

"Because I own a snippy dog, you think I can spot the difference." I squatted, setting down the pup.

Standing, Stone towered over me and the litter. "No, because you have an eye for trouble. And a knack for avoiding it."

***

Stone pulled the car to the curb in front of my building just as his name was called over the radio. He radioed in his location, then came round the car and held my door, though I was already on the sidewalk.

"Seems we're always getting interrupted. I'm indebted for the favor."

"I doubt you needed help spotting the softies from the perps. Even among puppies." I allowed him to grasp my hand, hoping to end on a positive note. "By the way, my editor wants to rebook my trip for Idaho, assuming I'm allowed to travel now."

"Why wouldn't you be?"

I dropped my hand, a little befuddled with his reverse. "You told me not to leave town."

"Ah, that." Grinning, he drummed his fingers on the car roof. "Par for course in an investigation, I'm afraid. Didn't mean to jeopardize your job. But I'd like to see you before you leave."

"Picking out more gifts for family members? Won't they be surprised."

Bobbing his head side to side, he said, "Is 'date' too strong a word?"

I swallowed. Hard.

"I see." He glanced to my third-story window, and I shivered to recall Sam looking down the first time Stone escorted me home. Maybe Sam's suspicions of Stone were based on jealous rivalry. Cops could be as territorial as dogs. "Maybe that's too forward, considering our rough start. Would be nice if we could start over."

I shuddered and wished that Sam had been watching us.
If you don't go up, he won't be gone.
  But with Sam out of the picture, it couldn't hurt for me to brave a real social life. What had Stone done but protect me, however intrusively? Besides, I couldn't afford him as an enemy.