Undercover Lovers (28 page)

It was as if no one realized
there was a man under all those walls.

Or that nobody made those
kinds of boundaries on accident.

The same way no woman was
going to get over those boundaries without a hell of an
effort.

Lucky for her, Marketta was
small. It wasn’t hard to run into him as he patrolled. To steal
glimpses of him; touches he never seemed fast enough to avoid.
Touches he finally stopped trying to escape. What she found was a
complicated puzzle. The proud Marine Staff Sergeant who’d left
behind nearly fifteen years of service. The teasing seducer who
could make her laugh while making her simultaneously want to rip
off her own clothes for him. The powerful lover who made her feel
delicate and sensual instead of crass and ball-busting. He had
secrets too, once she’d gotten him talking during those hard-won
conversations. Somehow, he’d sneaked most of her secrets out too.
All but the last few she’d kept from him.

Who she really
was.

What she was really
doing.

She shouldn’t have done it.
Because every time she broke past one barrier, the lies she’d had
to tell cut deeper into her soul. But that’s what happened when you
lied to the man you loved.

When you betrayed
him.

“
Did I hurt you too
much?”

“
What?” She looked at him,
having completely forgotten about the fact that he was treating her
wound. A quick glance to her ribs, where a neat row of white braces
pulled her skin firmly closed, and she realized he was already
done. His dark hand rested on her waist, as natural as if he always
had it there. She almost slid her own hand over it, wanting to hold
him place, but she knew if she did, he’d pull away. Even now that
she was telling him the truth. He’d retreat to his supposed safety
and wait for her to leave. No thanks. “I’m fine.”

“
Good.” His thumb did that
soothing rub thing again, making her belly quiver with the needs
that always floated just below the surface when he was near. Every
bone in her body could be broken and she’d still ache to wrap
herself around him. How could she want him—need him—so much even
knowing he could walk away from her without a backward glance?
She’d never been so weak in her life and if she were smart, she’d
slap herself out of it. But somehow, she’d rather be a moron with a
chance to be with him than a genius without him.

The thing that got her was
that he didn’t seem to know it.

Heavy silence sat between
them for endless seconds before he finally broke it with a sigh.
“Then I guess it’s time to get you out of those
clothes.”

“
God, you say the sexiest
things. Quick, say something else fun. How about,
Grab your ankles, babe, I’m coming in for a
landing.
” Trina’s slow, dirty grin did
terrible things to Cade’s self-control. She was always like this.
Taking every little thing and making it into something sexual,
something that tempted him to laugh. Though he had to admit, he’d
walked right into that one.

“
We’re not having sex. Your
clothes have blood on them and they’re cut up. Besides, I need to
check you for any other injuries.”

“
Aww, come on, Cade. You’re
missing the point of the game. Hot to trot
damsel-in-distress—”

“
With bruised
ribs.”

“—
alone in a mountain cabin
with inexplicably-single sex god—”

“
Hardly.” There were plenty
of explanations.

“
Since I’m the only one of
us who’s had sex with you, I don’t think you get a
vote.”

He was not going to give her
the smile she was hunting down. He couldn’t allow it. Trina
collected his moments of weakness like a kid after baseball cards.
But once they were hers, she cashed them in for pieces of his soul.
He simply didn’t have enough left to let her play her
games.

On the other hand, if she
wanted to call him a sex god, who was he to argue?

“
I’ll get you something to
sleep in. While I do that, how about you get back to telling me
what happened?” He got up off his knees, distancing himself from
all that beautiful skin across her belly by heading to his chest of
drawers on the other side of his bed, as many feet from her as the
one room cabin would allow. Bruised or not, he’d never seen
anything as tempting as her in his life.

“
It’s pretty simple really.
Carter has a delivery service up and down California. His crews
pick up shipments of heroin in Tijuana, drive it up the Grapevine
and drop it in Fresno for wider distribution. I was part of an
infiltration team that fed into three different biker crews in
California. Of the six of us, two have retired and three are dead.
I’m the last one and none of us have managed to get enough evidence
to knock out the main buyer pulling their strings. Or even find out
who it is. My old partner cut off a major supplier last year, but
he got made in the process and there were others just waiting to
take the supplier’s place. All I know about the current ones is
that they’re Colombian and about ten times more willing to kill
than the last guy’s men. I was this close to getting what we needed
and now there’s no way it can happen. If Frank or anyone else
from
Wheels of Pain
finds me before I can reach my DEA handler, I’m
dead.”

“
You’re skipping something.”
The sixth sense that had kept him alive in Afghanistan had a bead
on Trina and her half-truths. It always had. Which was why he’d
never been able to fully trust her. Want her, yes. Need her, even,
but from the beginning he’d noticed the signs. The way she’d
deflect by hitting on him. How she’d subtly look away before she
talked. She had no trouble staring Carter in the eye as she lied to
him—he’d seen her do it—but she couldn’t do it with him. It meant
something that she almost never looked him in the eye anymore.
Until now.

“
Just that your department
is corrupt.”

He snorted, reaching in for
one of his T-shirts. “Tell me something I don’t know.” That was why
Rick had asked him to join him in Marketta. Because he needed
someone to watch his back. Only for Rick had Cade considered it,
even if the Rick he’d found on arrival wasn’t quite the fun-loving
kid he used to know.

He touched the plain cotton
in the drawer, frowning at the texture. No, this wouldn’t work. He
closed it slowly, listening to Trina shifting uncomfortably on the
couch. Like him, she was too long-legged for it. There was no way
to lay on it without bending a leg or letting something hang off
it. Plus those cushions could support the Washington Monument
without denting. No, she wouldn’t be able to sleep there and
neither could he. She’d have to share the bed with him.

A pulse of dangerous elation
danced through his veins.

Squelching it wasn’t even
possible. A dead man would get excited about sharing a bed with a
woman like her and for all that he’d tried to bury his emotions, he
wasn’t dead. Unfortunately for him, no one drove that point home
more than Katrina Killian.

From the start, she’d made
him wish he could be different. Made him wish he was still the guy
with all those hopes about changing the world and saving
lives.  The one who laughed easily and trusted. That guy had
died with so many others, thousands of miles from here, under a
killing sun that never seemed to set, in sands that never seemed
able to satisfy its thirst for blood. He’d let him die, purposely
burying his soul so he could survive. So he could wake up day after
day and not hate himself for being able to walk away.

With her, though, he not
only could feel, he felt too much. He had no choice about it. At
first he’d fought it. Resented her slipping past his guards with a
smile or a tease, mocking the control he thought he had. But then
he began to look forward to it. To her insane little pick up lines.
Her unexpected humor. The vitality she infected him with that made
the rest of his day easier to get through. That made waking up
something to look forward to instead of dread.

He wouldn’t be fooling
anyone if he told himself he wasn’t mentally doing back flips to
finally lay her in his bed, in his arms, and hold her all night
long. But if he was going to live that fantasy, shouldn’t he go all
the way with it?

He turned to the closet,
pulling open the doors where he’d put stuff he didn’t want taking
up space in the little house he rented in Marketta. Where under
thin plastic, uniforms he’d never wear again and crisp dress shirts
from years gone by waited like specters. He pulled a shirt out, the
snowy white fabric sliding across his fingers like cool water. It
would fit over her lush curves with room to spare, probably
covering her at least to mid thigh. His best imaginings starred her
in his uniform shirts, a button or two giving little more than lip
service between the high globes of her breasts. Those tiny silk
panties of hers playing peek-a-boo with every step she
took.

If he gave her this to wear,
his cock would turn to fucking stone with no relief in sight. Just
hours and hours of unrelenting sexual torment until he could safely
get her out of there.

He stole a quick glance at
her, all that ebony hair flowing like ink over the arm of his
couch, her lean body encased in dirty white leather, the toes of
her matching boots pointing up as she stretched her legs with a
wince.

I’m a masochist.

It wasn’t anything he didn’t
already know about himself. He gripped the shirt in a stranglehold
and headed back her way. “You need help sitting up?”

She grimaced as he knelt
beside her again, but shook her head, already lowering her legs to
the ground. Biting off a curse, Cade fit his hand to her back,
supporting her regardless of her grudging acceptance. She never
liked help. He never gave a shit. He considered it one of the
better quirks to their relationship.

Trina took a deep breath,
carefully, while he held his in anticipation that she could do
it.  The air came in and went out with any serious hitches.
“See? It was just running up this mountain of yours that made it so
bad.”

“
You still haven’t said why
you had to.” He didn’t care how many deflections she threw out
there or how pissed he was that she might actually be telling the
truth now, after all this wasted time. He could play being calm
better than most, especially knowing every second of that calm was
keeping her off balance enough to stop lying to him. No matter
what, he wasn’t letting her get away without answers. It had been
more than a year of this. He deserved them and he damn well better
get them.

“
Shana.” Trina began
shrugging out of her coat, her coordination about as good as a
three day old kitten’s.

Impatient, Cade helped her
push her jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the cushions
behind her. Next he moved to the hem of her snug T-shirt. “She’s
off with that Daniel guy you trust so much.”

“
Daniel is my former
partner.” The knowing curve to her lips only partially soothed him.
“I trust him with my life, not my body.”

Which didn’t say anything
about her heart, did it?

“
Doesn’t mean I have to like
him. What does Carter’s wife have to do with anything?”

“
Shows what you know. Carter
never married her, just told everyone that was her name. Once she
became known as his property, no one was going to help her if she
wanted to get away from him.” Trina bit back a hiss at lifting her
arms to peel the shirt over her head. Her bra, a pretty blue
cottony thing, seemed more functional than flirtatious. The straps
angled behind her neck instead of looping over her shoulders.
Probably best for carrying packs while on her bike. He wondered if
the panties matched. Peek-a-
Blue
could be a wickedly satisfying game for the
evening.

“
No one but you.”

“
And you,” she sighed. “You
saved her life, Cade.”

“
I just drove her to a
rendezvous point.” Because he’d trusted Trina when she’d shown him
the bruised woman and young boy hiding in her bedroom
closet.

He was supposed to get Shana
to file a report. To get her protection through the town’s
services. Medical care. But then Trina reminded him of what he
already knew. Shana
couldn’t
press charges. Nothing would happen and when
Carter got his hands on her again, she wouldn’t come out of it
alive. Carter didn’t abide betrayal, especially from women. So when
Trina said she knew another way to get the woman to safety, he’d
looked into those battered faces and made the decision to do
whatever they needed, not what he was legally required to do. It
wasn’t a decision he regretted.

“
She took something with
her. Insurance, I guess, in case Frank found her. He’s desperate to
find it, whatever it is and he’s been turning his informants inside
out to find where she went. Someone in your department must have
cracked.” Trina’s disgust gave way to her sigh of relief to have
the constricting clothing off. In just her bra, she sank against
the hard, coarse cushions as if they were silk pillows. Dark
bruises marred her upper arms, clearly caused by the grip of men’s
hands and smears of tiny blood vessels crushed under heavy
pressure. An array of contusions spread over her ribs and chest,
scratches lined the side of her neck. His gaze tracked one injury
to the next, all the way down to her red, swollen knuckles, where
purplish marks had begun to form on the scuffed joints. She’d put
up the fight of her life tonight.