Operation Power Play (15 page)

Chapter 26

“T
hey can’t do anything to me, not really. I’m too high profile, even after all this time.” Sloan sat on the edge of the bed as Brett put away the clothes she’d helped him out of last night. She tried to keep her mind on the matter at hand. And tried to convince herself that getting him out of his clothes again wasn’t the matter at hand.

“Even heroes die in ordinary accidents,” Brett answered, tossing socks on top of the damp towel she’d used on Cutter, who was sitting quietly now, watching them. “Or at least, that’s what we’re told they are.”

Lord, she even had him looking for conspiracies now. She felt ridiculous. But last night... She had no words for how she’d felt last night. She was afraid it must be showing in her face, afraid he’d read there that she’d like nothing more than to go right back to bed with him, and spoke hastily.

“You don’t really think they’d—”

“I’m not positive they wouldn’t,” he said. “A fine line, but one I’m not willing to ignore when your safety’s in question.”

It sounded so much something Jason would have said that it took her aback for a moment. And her own thought came back to her.

The only kind of man who stirred her.

And stir her he did. In ways she’d never realized she was capable of being stirred. With Jason, sex had been a warm, rocking, home-at-last kind of thing. With Brett Dunbar, it was nothing less than explosive. And telling herself it was that way because they’d both been alone for so long wasn’t very convincing. Maybe if they kept at it for a few weeks, took the edge off, then—

“Whatever you’re thinking, hang on to it.”

His voice was low, rough edged and sounded exactly as it had in the dark last night when he’d asked her to take the lead, to do whatever she wanted, whatever gave her pleasure. And she had, exploring his lean, rangy body until he was gasping under her hands and mouth.

She nearly moaned aloud at the memory.

“Damn,” he muttered. And reached for her.

* * *

He’d never been much for lying in bed all day, but he could learn. With this woman in his arms, he could learn. Would happily learn.

Sloan snuggled against him and let out a long, relaxed breath. It brushed over the skin of his chest, not quite a tickle, almost another caress. Then she went still except for an odd motion with her right foot.

“I think I found your phone.”

“Oh.” He’d dropped it on the bed when he’d finished with Mead, feeling oddly as if it were burning his fingers. She reached down and fumbled for a moment, then came up with the phone. It still felt warm, but differently, this time from her, and it made all the difference.

“Don’t look now, but you’re being watched.”

He drew his head back, giving her a puzzled look. Then he followed her gaze and saw Cutter, his chin resting on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on them intently. Ridiculously, he wondered what the dog thought of such human antics. At least he was sure human sex wasn’t an oddity to him. After all, he belonged to Quinn and Hayley.

He put down the phone beside him and lifted a brow. “What do you want, dog?”

“You mean you can’t read his mind?”

“That’s his trick, not mine,” he said, his mouth quirking. “And he’s uncomfortably good at it.”

“He shouldn’t want out again so soon, should he?”

“It’s not that look,” Brett said.

“So you can read his expressions, then.”

He glanced at Sloan, wondering if she was making fun. There wasn’t a trace of teasing in her own expression, so he took her seriously.

“I’m learning.”

Cutter reached out and nudged the phone with his nose. Sloan laughed. “He wants you to call someone?”

“I don’t know. Rafe, maybe?”

At the name, Cutter let out a soft woof.

“Okay, now I get it,” Sloan said, reaching out to ruffle the dog’s fur. “You’ve gotten some message on the ether? Or you can hear the phone ring before it does? Your people are about to call?”

The dog took no offense at her teasing tone and gave her a quick nuzzling but went right back to the phone.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Brett said drily, “and I’m supposed to call them.”

“Is there something you need to tell them?”

He started to shake his head but then remembered. “I do want to send them a photo. See if they can match it with a name.”

“Who?”

“The guy who was with Mead and Franklin. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.”

“And you think they can?”

“Tyler has some pretty amazing face-recognition capabilities.” He gave her a sideways look. “And he doesn’t need a case as an excuse to run it.”

“And he doesn’t have to worry about stirring up a hornet’s nest in the process?” she asked.

“Exactly,” he said to the woman who knew a little something about stirring up more than just hornets. Dragons, maybe. And he wondered when he’d started thinking in such fanciful terms.

He called up the photos he’d taken of the men coming down the outside stairs from Mead’s office. He selected the clearest, closest one of the tall blond. He was about to tap the mail option, figuring he’d send it to Rafe to forward to Tyler since he didn’t have the kid’s email or number, when Sloan shifted beside him to look. She went very still.

“You don’t need to send it,” she said, her voice low.

“What?”

“I know who it is.”

He stopped the motion of his finger to stare at her. He angled the phone to give her a better look. “This guy?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

She shifted her gaze to his face. “Governor Ogilvie’s bodyguard.”

Brett blinked. “The guy who threatened you?”

She nodded. “Ramsey Emmet. Believe me, dear Rams is not a face I’d forget.”

Brett looked back to the image on the small screen. He’d categorized him as a bully by body language and expression alone, so he supposed there was some satisfaction in learning he’d been right.

“So what would these guys have to talk about that’s imperative enough the governor’s consigliere comes to them?”

Sloan let out a sigh. “I’m trying not to fall prey to the idea that it’s all about me.”

He glanced at her. “As far as I’m concerned, it is, until I can prove differently.”

She gave him a smile that had him thinking about postponing any thought at all for a while. Again. He made himself look back at the photo.

“Nice trio,” he muttered. “Quite a power play we’ve got going here. One guy who knows he’s not important so tries to make everyone think he is, another who’s got a little power and uses it like a club, and a guy run by the most officially powerful man in the state.”

“Officially?” she asked, apparently caught by the qualification.

He shrugged. “If you go by efficiency and connections and getting things done, I’m not sure Quinn Foxworth isn’t really the most powerful guy around.”

Cutter made a soft whuffing sound at the name, while Sloan studied him for a moment. “I’d like to meet them sometime.”

Brett gently tugged at Cutter’s ear. “Curious about his family?”

“Yes. But more about anyone you speak of with such admiration.”

She caught him off guard with the tone of quiet regard but even more with the implied high valuation of his opinion.

“I...” His voice trailed away.

“You’re a good man, Brett Dunbar, fighting the good fight. Are you surprised I respect you for it?”

He’d stared down hardened criminals with less effort than it was taking him now to meet her steady gaze. And something he saw in that gaze, in those eyes, something of her nerve and courage and, yes, the pain and anguish she’d been through, made a realization explode in his brain.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” he said.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she agreed softly.

She thought he was like her, brave and strong and good. He wasn’t at all convinced he was all that, but she was, or she wouldn’t be here, with him, like this. She never would have come home with him, never would have given herself to him. But she had; she’d given him everything.

And that kind of giving came with strings, whether he wanted them or not. Whether he was ready for them or not. He might not be what she thought he was, but he wasn’t the kind of man who took the kind of gift this woman—who was definitely what he thought she was—had given and tossed it aside as if it were just a meaningless, if pleasurable, encounter.

His stomach knotted, and he shied away from the sudden mess of feelings even as he grimaced at himself for doing so. All these years, he’d sworn he was done with caring on anything deeper than a casual level. He channeled what emotions he allowed himself into his work, helping people there.

He remembered reading something once, about how having people you cared about gave fate something to use against you.

He’d just given fate the biggest sledgehammer in existence to crush him with.

Chapter 27

F
ocus
, Brett told himself. He couldn’t let this emotional stuff derail him. There were other things to deal with now.

Like this guy in the photo.

The screen on his phone had blanked out, and he swiped it again. Looked at the image, remembered the man simply observing, saying nothing. Saying nothing because he’d already given Mead and Franklin their orders? Or because he didn’t dare say anything in front of a deputy without checking with the man on the other end of his leash first?

Because for all his size and ominous presence, Brett had no doubt he was on a leash. What he didn’t know was how far the man would go if he was ever let off that leash.

It hit him then, an image of this hulking bully turned loose. On Sloan.

A wave of nausea swept him, followed by a chilling anger deeper than anything he’d felt in years. The very thought of Sloan being threatened, of her being in any kind of danger from this kind of man, made him furious.

He rolled out of bed and yanked his jeans back on. Cutter jumped out of the way but stayed close, watching him with interest. He grabbed a lightweight sweater from a drawer and pulled it on. When his head cleared the neck, he thought he was calm enough to look at her.

She was looking at him much the way the dog was, curious but not wary.

“You’re staying with me.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but that image was beating at him.

“Am I?” she asked, her tone mild. Deceptively mild, he suspected. He’d started at the wrong end.

“I don’t trust these people. And you’re on their radar, not in a good way.”

She frowned. “I thought that was the plan.”

“It’s not anymore. You just stay out of their way. No more demonstrations, no more showing up in Mead’s way, no more fighting for the zoning approval.”

“So because I slept with you, you now have the right to give me orders?”

Yes, deceptively mild, all right, Brett thought.

“That has nothing to do with this. I’m not giving you orders as...your lover,” he said, unable to think of any other way to say it, since
the man you let do everything to you and who let you do everything to him
didn’t have quite the ring he was going for. “I’m saying this as a cop. I don’t want you going anywhere alone. If you’re out, you’re with me. If you’re here and I can’t be, you’re with Cutter.”

The dog barked, short and sharp. His entire demeanor had changed, and on that thought he walked over and stood in front of Sloan, squared up and alert, ready, looking for all the world as if he’d understood the words and that his charge was now to protect her.

“It got very male in here all of a sudden,” she said, sounding more wryly amused than angry. “So let me get this straight. You want me to stay here, locked away, unless you’re available to take the little woman wherever she might need to go?”

“You know that’s not what I mean. I just want you safe.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I have responsibilities. Responsibilities that are as important to me as yours are to you. My family needs me.”

He couldn’t argue that. “We’ll get them some help until this is over.”

“The undesirability of having strangers come into their house aside, how am I supposed to agree to this when I don’t even know what ‘this’ is, not to mention who gets to decide when it’s ‘over’?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said, feeling a little beleaguered. Odd how the very things he admired about her were a bit hard to deal with when turned on him. “I just don’t want you in the middle of this.”

“Seems to me I already am.”

“You stirred it up, yes. But now you need to back off and let me deal with it. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t just go into hiding for no real reason.”

“Sloan, I’ve been at this a long time. I’ve learned to trust my gut instincts because most times when I don’t, I regret it. And right now they’re screaming that there’s something big and ugly going on here. Please. Give me a chance to find out what it is.”

She stared at him for a long, silent moment. This had turned into a whole different kind of morning after. But he couldn’t deny the urgency he was suddenly feeling.

“Could whatever ‘this’ is rebound on my aunt and uncle?”

He was tempted to just say a definite yes. It would be the easiest way to get her to do what he wanted. But he gave her the truth; Sloan Burke deserved nothing less.

“I don’t know. But I can’t say it wouldn’t. They, or their property, are mixed up in this somehow.”

“Then it’s them you should be watching.”

Cutter barked. And barked again. Short and sharp.

Sloan got there as fast as he did and in fact spoke first. “Call Foxworth. It’s what they do, isn’t it?”

“You’ll trust Rafe to look after your folks?”

Her mouth quirked. “I think I’d trust him to storm the governor’s mansion if that was what needed to be done.”

Brett smiled then, feeling a little less knotted up inside. “Me, too.” He glanced at Cutter, then back at her. “Then you’ll stay with me? No arguing?”

Sloan tilted her head back slightly. In an affected drawl she said, “Why, Detective Dunbar, darling, if you wanted me to move in with you, all you had to do was ask.”

When Cutter barked again at that, or at his no-doubt gaping expression, it sounded to Brett far too close to laughter.

* * *

“All set,” Rafe said. “Charlie has trusted people everywhere. Including a cardiac care nurse. And I know a rehab therapist who’ll come in and stay for as long as necessary.”

“Foxworth has quite a resource list,” Sloan said. She remembered what Brett had said about them not taking any payment and wondered just how this was all financed. This Charlie must be something special, she thought.

“Yes,” Rafe said simply, “we do.”

“And you?” Brett asked.

“I’ll be on Mr. and Mrs. Day at night.”

Brett’s cell rang, and he nodded at Rafe before he walked across the room to answer it.

“I don’t want them scared,” Sloan said as she looked at the man she was trusting with her family.

“They’ll never know I’m there,” Rafe promised. “But not even the governor’s going to get to their door.”

She believed him. Something in his cool, steady gaze was more than reassuring. This was a man who would get the job done. As different as they were, Brett Dunbar and Rafe Crawford were cut from the same tough cloth.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It’s an honor.”

The image of the salute he’d given her when they’d first met shot through her mind. Jason. She sucked in a breath, waiting for a rush of guilt to swamp her. It didn’t come. The only thing she felt was a flood of heat at the memories from last night, a night unlike anything she’d ever thought to experience. Her pulse kicked up and she had to take another deep breath to steady herself.

She snapped back to the moment to find Rafe studying her silently. His gaze flicked across the room to Brett, then back to her.

“I think,” he said softly, “he would approve. Brett Dunbar is a good man. The best.”

She was sure she must be bright red by now. “It’s that obvious?”

“To someone who doesn’t deal in such things, yes.”

There was no bitterness in his tone, just acceptance. And she found herself wondering even more about the enigma that was Rafe Crawford.

Reassured now that her aunt and uncle would be safe, Sloan sat quietly in Brett’s car until they were back out on the main road.

“What am I supposed to tell them?” she asked then.

“Your aunt and uncle?”

“Yes. They’d never believe I’d just take off and go somewhere. I’m already going to have some explaining to do about last night.”

Her breath caught on the last words as the images swept over her again. It took her a moment to recover, and she was thankful he said nothing.

“I don’t like the idea of lying to them,” she said before she let something really stupid out.

There was a long silence before Brett said, his voice a little rough, “You could tell them the truth. About where you are, I mean.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “With you, you mean.”

He nodded, and she couldn’t help but notice he didn’t look happy about it. He didn’t even flick her a glance but was again driving as if he were back on an LA freeway at rush hour instead of out in the green countryside passing maybe one car every five minutes or so.

“They’ll think...” Her words trailed off. She took a deep breath and tried again. “They’ll think I’ve fallen in love or something.”

“You’re too smart for that,” he said, his voice even rougher.

“Too late.” The words came out barely above a whisper. But he heard her. Glanced at her at last. Something in that look made her realize there was more than one way to interpret her words.

“Sloan—”

“I’ll have to let them think that,” she said, thinking her voice sounded as ragged as his. “It’s the only thing they’ll accept. And I can’t have them under any more stress, worrying about me.”

He didn’t answer that, just drove on in silence again, everything that had happened between them like another passenger, hovering, huge.

“I should warn you about something,” he said abruptly. She wondered if he was that desperate to change the subject. Or maybe this was the same subject. Maybe he was going to warn her off, tell her not to assume anything because of all this. Or because of last night. Maybe he was afraid she was going to think he wanted more. Or more likely that she would, and he was going to warn her now so he didn’t have to tell her later he wasn’t interested in anything else.

The question she herself had to answer was, did she want more? He was everything she’d sworn to stay away from. He was also everything she was drawn to. And as Aunt Connie had said, he was also the only man who had stirred her, made her feel—although visions of last night made that tame description laughable—since Jason. Brett was—

“That was Mead on the phone back there,” he said.

She gaped at him. “What?”

“At Foxworth, when my phone rang.”

She nearly laughed aloud. Here she’d been, off on some emotional tangent that had nothing to do with what he’d been about to say. She’d built a scenario that didn’t even stand on sand, let alone anything more solid.

“Oh,” she said, feeling sillier than she had in a while. “What did he want?”

“To find out how I’d managed to get you to shut up and go away.”

“What did you tell him?”

He gave her a sideways look. “Something he, being who and what he is, would understand. Probably even expects, if we’ve been seen together.”

“Which is?”

His jaw tightened, as if he thought she wasn’t going to like this. “That I took you to bed.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of that he’d believe had worked so fast, after all the trouble you caused him.”

“You mean you told him you got me to back off by...seducing me?”

“He’s that kind of guy,” Brett said, sounding even more uncomfortable. “It’s the way he works, so...I thought you should know I had to say that, in case he ever... I didn’t want you to hear it and think... Oh, hell.”

Sloan stared at him. Bit her lip, trying to hold back. But she couldn’t. She burst out laughing.

He looked stunned.

“Do not ever put yourself in the same category as that pompous, overstuffed, phony windbag, Brett Dunbar. I’m not sure he’s even the same species.”

It was slow, but a smile eventually curved his lips.

“You are,” he said, his tone heartfelt, “an amazing woman.”

The explanation to her family was less difficult than she’d expected. In fact, she was more embarrassed by her aunt’s delighted “Well, it’s about time,” and her eagerness to help her pack up some things.

“Shouldn’t you be warning me?” she said, relieved.

“He’s a good man, Sloan. I can feel it. You grab him and hang on.”

She felt a twinge of guilt then, knowing the falsehood that lay behind this. But Connie rushed on, and the moment for confession was gone.

“I won’t even tease him about not wanting to come in and face us,” she said.

“He had to do an errand. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She didn’t voice her suspicions that the “errand” Brett had gone off on was another visit to the drugstore. Yet again the memories rose up, and she hoped fervently she was right. No matter the reason, she wanted more nights like last night. In fact, she wanted an endless string of them.

And she stopped in the middle of zipping up the small suitcase she’d packed, realizing she had the answer to the question she’d avoided asking herself earlier. She did want more. She wanted everything.

She’d had the idea of keeping this isolated in her mind, of thinking of it as a sort of vacation, lovely while it lasted but with an end built into it. As she slid her laptop into the outside pocket of the bag, she told herself she’d better stick to that idea.

She was still telling herself that when she was back in the car with him, and they were headed back to his place. She was so busy lecturing herself that she only belatedly noticed he’d not made the turn to go up the hill. He kept going, then abruptly dodged across the outside lane and into the parking lot of, of all things, a lumber store. She looked at him, saw that his attention was on the rearview mirrors as they slowed.

But that wasn’t the real difference.

It was like looking at a different man. This wasn’t the quiet man with the mind that never stopped working; this wasn’t the runner who laughed about the antics of a dog; this wasn’t the passionate, giving lover of last night. This man was on alert, ready and wire taut. The very energy around him had changed.

This was the cop.

“Brett?” she said softly.

He didn’t look at her. But he did answer her.

“We’re being followed.”