Overkill (22 page)

He kissed her like his life depended on it. As if she were slipping away and he would never get another chance. Marty tasted desperation and need. Both were tempered by the underlying hint of fear, but she didn’t know if it was coming from him or her or both.

Clay ran his hands down her sides, past her waist, and stopped at the fly of her jeans. Marty knew what would happen next. Her intellect told her to stop. This was not the right time for them to explore whatever feelings were exploding between them. Clay had lost an officer tonight. Marty had come very close to losing her life. She didn’t know if this was a reaction to high stress or if they would end up like this no matter what the situation.

But his kisses drugged her. The physical pull to him was too powerful. When he unzipped her jeans and worked the denim over her hips, Marty didn’t stop him. Her heart was like a locomotive in her chest when he ran his hand over her pelvis. She gasped when his fingertip penetrated the curls at her vee. That gasp turned into a keening sound when he slid two fingers into her and went deep.

All the while he kissed her. Sensation after sensation rolled over her until she could think of nothing except his mouth against hers, his magical fingers moving inside her. Marty opened to him and rode his hand. It had been so long since she’d been this close to another person. Since she’d been held by a man. No man had ever held her the way Clay did.

He kissed her hard. Vaguely, she was aware of the wall at her back. His body flush against hers. The dull ache of her bruised ribs. Her heart exploding in her chest. But at the forefront of it all, a wild pleasure leapt in her blood, heated her skin, drove her to near madness.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with wild abandon. A spark stoking a flame and threatening an inferno. Clay responded in kind. She could feel the steel rod of his erection against her cleft, and the need clamped down on her like a vise.

“Not here,” he whispered, pulling back slightly.

“Here.” Marty fumbled with the buttons of his uniform shirt. “Now.”

“The bedroom . . .”

“There, too.” She flung his shirt to the floor, set her hands on the rock-hard flesh of his belly.

Clay opened his fly, stepped out of his slacks. Marty caught a glimpse of dark hair on a muscular chest, a flat belly and the thrust of his penis, and a thrill of pure feminine admiration went through her. He was magnificent. He was kind. And he wanted her.

The next thing she knew his mouth was on hers, devouring the last of her thoughts. The sound of their labored breathing kept pace with the hard pound of Marty’s heart. She was aware of his breath warm against her cheek. The hard length of his body against hers. The spicy scent of his aftershave titillating her senses.

“I don’t want to hurt your ribs,” he ground out.

She was beyond the ability to speak. It was as if her body took on a mind of its own. A mind that was determined to love this man and partake in the emotional joy and physical pleasure being with him would bring.

A gasp escaped her when he lifted her, hooked his arms around the backs of her knees and propped her against the wall. A keen sensation of vulnerability assailed her, but the feeling was short-lived. A cry escaped her when he slid into her and went deep. Her head went back and bumped the wall. Grasping his shoulders she arched into him. Once. Twice.

“Aw God,” he hissed. “Marty. Marty.”

The orgasm slammed down on her like an avalanche. Sensation after sensation tore down her defenses and rocked her mind. She heard his name, realized she was shouting it. All the while her body took her to a place she’d never been before. And Marty knew that when she emerged, she wouldn’t be the same.

The world would be a different place.

And neither of them could ever go back to the way they were before.

 
Erica looked out the window at the dust devils and scrub
and wished she wasn’t on her way to Debbie and Jack’s. Sure, they were fun and she had a great time whenever she was there. Debbie always had lots of good stuff to eat. Uncle Jack liked to watch all those shoot-’em-up movies that Erica liked, too. And then there was Ripley the big fat cat.

But visiting this weekend meant she would have to miss one of the biggest barrel races of the year. If she didn’t go, Mary Lou Finkbine was going to win. It just wasn’t fair.

Turning on her iPod, Erica decided she was mad at her dad. This was all his fault. He was always telling her what to do. He was always being so strict. She was the only girl in her class who wasn’t allowed to wear makeup yet. Not even a little bit of lip gloss. Why did he have to be so overprotective?

Martina McBride was belting out a song about dreams and an angel spreading her wings when the car jolted suddenly and swerved. Alarmed, Erica looked over to see Officer Jett turn the steering wheel hard. The next thing she knew the car flew off the road and headed toward the ditch.

“Hang on!” Officer Jett shouted.

Erica dropped her iPod and hung on for dear life.

NINETEEN

Clay told himself this was all about lust. It was about
physical pleasure. The warmth and comfort and physical release only a woman could offer a man. He could handle that. Simple. Black-and-white with none of those confusing gray areas.

Too bad it was all a lie.

He told himself he’d come here to have sex with Marty. He’d wanted her. Wanted to fuck her. He wanted to get off and then get the hell out.

But deep inside, he acknowledged there was so much more to his being here than sex. He’d
needed
her in ways he could never put into words. He’d needed to hear her voice. He’d needed to touch her and hear her laughter. He’d needed all of those things with a viciousness that shredded every last ounce of resistance he’d had.

As desperately as he’d wanted this to be an uncomplicated case of lust, there was nothing simple about any of what had happened between them. In fact, the situation was so damn complicated it scared him. Somehow emotions had gotten involved. Not only his, but hers. He knew how easily hearts could be bruised, how easily they shattered, how long and arduous the healing process could be. The situation could turn into disaster if he didn’t tread carefully. But how could he be cautious when Marty called out to every reckless, impulsive cell in his body?

He carried her to the bedroom, stumbling because her legs were wrapped around his hips and he was sunk deep into the wet heat of her. Heat so intense his entire body sizzled with it.
Lust,
he reminded himself as he lay her down on the bed.
This is just lust at work.
But when she raised her eyes to his, he felt it like a knife slicing his heart to pieces. His world shifted on its axis. And in that instant they were the only two people left on earth, and the moment between them was all that mattered.

In the back of his mind a smidgen of responsibility reminded him he should use some kind of protection. But Clay didn’t have a condom. It wasn’t like he ever had sex on the spur of the moment. He hadn’t stopped to buy a box, because then he would have had to admit this was premeditated. That he’d planned it.

He should stop this now. Take stock. Think it through. Stop being so goddamn reckless.

But he needed her the way a free diver needs air after a deep and dangerously long dive. He could not deny himself that life-giving breath, that burst of oxygen to his brain. Without Marty he would surely die. And for once in his life he chose feeling over thinking. He chose recklessness over caution. The fickle slant of his own heart over the wisdom life experience had bestowed.

He knelt on the bed, walked on his knees toward her. She sat up, hair wild and cascading, and got to her knees. The first kiss devastated him. The second shattered every perception he’d ever had about himself. All the while need and an urgency he could not deny drove him closer to some dangerous edge and an inevitable fall.

Easing her back, he climbed over her. She lay against the pillows, opened to him. He could see her belly trembling. Her lips. Her thighs. Her hands as she reached for him. The blood rushing through his veins sounded like a tornado ripping around outside the hotel. Beautiful and deadly and destructive. A force too powerful to deny.

“Tell me we’re not going to be sorry for this later,” she said.

Clay saw a vulnerability he didn’t want to see in her eyes. She deserved an answer, but he didn’t have one. He couldn’t say the words because he couldn’t lie. Not to her. Not at this moment. The one thing he did know was that when all was said and done, one or both of them would be sorry for it.

She started to speak a second time. He silenced her with a kiss. When she turned her head and whispered his name, he drove into her. He knew it was wrong. That it was selfish. Maybe even cruel. But he wanted this moment to be honest and true. He owed it to her. He owed it to himself.

Even when neither of those things was easy to hear.

Bracing his arms on either side of her, he stared down at her, loving the feel of being inside her, loving even more the sweet sound of his name on her lips. He moved within her, long, steady strokes, and watched her climax. Felt his own completion rushing over him in a tumble of sensation and emotion he couldn’t begin to control.

He held back as long as he could. He wanted this moment to last. But he knew it wouldn’t. Growling low in his throat, he spilled his seed into the deepest reaches of her body. He steeled himself against her cries as they echoed inside him.

And he resigned himself to the inevitable crash that would follow, and the cruel reality of what he had to do next.

Clay crept from the bed and stepped into his uniform
slacks. At the bar, he snatched a tiny bottle of whiskey from the shelf, poured it into a tumbler and drank it straight down.

He knew better than to try to drown his troubles with alcohol. He had a long night ahead of him. With a cop killer on the loose, he needed to keep his wits about him. Stay on his toes. He needed to work around the clock until the son of a bitch was caught.

So then why was he here?

That was the question that bothered him most. The one he hadn’t been able to adequately answer. Or maybe he just didn’t want to examine the answer too closely.

He was midway through the second bottle when he heard Marty emerge from the bedroom. He turned, steeled himself against the sight of her standing there in a robe that was two sizes too big. Her eyes were large and dark against her pale complexion. Her cinnamon-colored hair spiraled wildly around her face. She was beautiful and sexy, and for a moment all he could think of was the precious moments they’d spent making love every way a man and a woman could.

She looked at the glass in his hand and started toward him. “If I didn’t know better, I might think I was starting to rub off on you.”

For a moment he was afraid she would touch him. Clay wasn’t sure what he’d do if she did. Take her down to the floor and make love to her until neither of them could think or speak or screw this up. He wanted her; he couldn’t deny that. But this was the last place he should be tonight. “I don’t mix with pills.”

She hesitated, then crossed to the small refrigerator and removed a bottle of water. “I guess I had that coming.” She took a long drink, watching him over the rim, her eyes wary. “I’m not sure why you felt the need to say it.”

“You needed to hear it.”

“You’re not my keeper.”

“I’m a cop. And your boss.”

“Is that what you are? My boss?”

Clay stomped down the anger starting to churn inside him. She didn’t deserve his anger; she wasn’t the source. But she was probably going to be the target. “I’m your friend.”

A minute ripple went through her. “Oh. A
friend.
I’m glad you clarified that for me, Clay, because after what we just did, I could get the wrong idea.”

“If you’re as smart as I think you are, you won’t read anything into what just happened that isn’t there.”

He could tell by the way she winced that he’d scored a direct hit. It should have made him feel better; he didn’t want to deal with this awkward moment-after. But it made him feel like hell.

“Maybe I’m a little dense, but when two people make love the way we just did, I was under the impression that they’re usually more than just friends.”

“Is that what you want?”

“That’s what I’d like to talk about.”

“What do you expect me to say, Marty? That I love you? That I want to marry you? That I want you to be the mother of my children?”

“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” she snapped. “I don’t deserve that.”

“You deserve the truth. And the truth of the matter is I like you. I’m attracted to you. But you’re one of the most reckless, impulsive and self-destructive people I’ve ever known.”

“Don’t forget my reputation as a rogue cop,” she interjected. “And my violent temper.”

“Look, the last thing you need in your life is a complicated relationship.”

“I guess what I really need is a
pal.
”

“I’m being honest when I tell you I want to be your friend.”

“Are we talking the kind of friends who have sex occasionally or a strictly platonic-relationship kind of friend?” she asked sarcastically.

“I don’t think it’s a very good idea for this to happen again.”

“Funny, you didn’t seem to feel that way a few minutes ago when you were—”

“Don’t turn what happened between us into something ugly. It wasn’t.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was a response to an incredible amount of stress.”

She set the water bottle on the bar so hard a few drops spurted out the top. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“Because I needed . . .”
You.
Clay came within an inch of saying the one word he didn’t want to say. The word that would seal his fate. Her fate. He didn’t want to do that to either of them. Not tonight. Not until they’d both had time to sort through their feelings and decide how to handle what had happened between them. “Something,” he finished.

“I see.” Anger sharpened her gaze. “Well, here’s a word of advice for you, Clay. The next time you need
something
, go to Eve. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to accommodate you.”

Clay could feel the vein in his neck throbbing. He hated this, hated arguing with her, hurting her. He was angry, and for the first time since Eve had left him with a little girl to raise and not a clue how to do it, he was confused. Worse, he was hurting and he didn’t want to examine the reason for his pain too closely because he knew he wouldn’t like what he found.

“I have to go.” Striding briskly to the table, he snatched up his holster and weapon and started toward the door.

Clay hesitated an instant before opening it. In some small corner of his mind he wanted her to call out to him. He wanted to turn to her and tell her the time they’d spent together meant something. He wanted to tell her he cared.

But the thought of doing any of those things scared him even more than knowing he had to leave. Holding that thought, he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

 
Marty refused to cry. Not over a man. Hell, she hadn’t
even fallen to that contemptible level back in high school when Rick Reigelsperger told her she was too ugly to take to the prom.

But in all of her twenty-nine years, she couldn’t remember ever hurting like this. Not like this.

She finished the vodka first, then started on the whiskey. She knew she was indulging in self-destructive behavior. She knew it was stupid and pathetic. But it was as if he’d sliced her open from end to end and left her holding herself together with inept, bloody hands.

She would rather have been angry. At least she understood anger. She could channel it and turn it into something positive. With hurt, it seemed all she could do was walk around bewildered and gut-punched. Not her style at all.

She hadn’t a clue what had just happened between her and Clay. He’d purposefully hurt her, and she didn’t understand why. Maybe because his life was so neat and hers was so messy. He was used to being in control and laying down the law. In classic Marty fashion, she refused to let herself be controlled, and she never followed the rules. Talk about incompatible.

The anger was starting to take hold; that was good. The vodka was fuzzing up her brain; that was even better. She was so much better at being a cop than she was a cop’s lover.

It was at that moment that she saw clearly what had happened. The reality of it scared her a hell of a lot more than being at the top of the Red Mafia’s hit list.

Marty had fallen in love with Clay.

She’d done the one thing she was destined to ruin. She didn’t know how to be in love. Didn’t have a clue how to have a healthy relationship with a good man. Yet she’d opened her heart and handed it to him on a big, tarnished platter. She’d made herself vulnerable in a way that gave him the ultimate power over her. A man who, evidently, thought she was good enough to sleep with but drew the line at anything more.

“Oh my God.”

The truth of it staggered her. Sent a knife blade of panic slicing through the center of her chest. How could she have let herself do something so incredibly stupid?

Pressing her fingers to her temples, Marty sat down hard on the bed. She put her face in her hands and wished she was wrong. But the pain twisting her heart into knots was proof positive that she wasn’t.

“Oh, Hogan, what have you done?” she whispered.

She jumped when the phone on the night table jangled. Her first thought was that Clay was calling to apologize. That he’d had time to think about everything he’d said.

Taking a deep breath, she answered with a curt utterance of her name.

Every nerve in her body went taut at the sound of the female voice with the Russian accent. She knew immediately it was the woman who’d shot her.

Katja Ivanov.

Marty looked stupidly down at the phone, but there was no caller ID. No way to identify the caller or determine where she was calling from. “Who is this?”

“You know who I am.”

“You flatter yourself, asshole. I’m going to hang up if you don’t tell me—”

“You hang up and I will cut this child’s heart from her chest,” she hissed.

Marty went perfectly still.
Child?
Confusion swirled, but she felt an underlying sense of terror building just beneath the surface. “What are you talking about?”

She heard the phone being jostled about. “Marty! I’m scared! I want my
dad
!”

Everything went cold inside her at the sound of Erica’s voice. It was as if her blood had been transfused with ice. Somehow this vicious bitch had gotten her hands on Erica. Clay’s sweet little girl who could ride like the wind and feared nothing. But hadn’t Clay sent her to his sister’s house in New Mexico for safekeeping? Had this savage thug somehow intercepted them?