Three months later
Kylie’s eyes burned, and she wondered for the third or fourth time since leaving Dallas if she had any sense in her head to start the trip to Kansas City this late at night. It was an eight-hour drive and it was damn near three o’clock in the morning. She wasn’t even sure there was a reason to rush back there.
Her leg cramped, the bullet wound she’d taken while in Nicaragua pretty well healed but still giving her grief from time to time. The humid night air, with summer kicking in hard and fast, seemed to make her leg act up. She didn’t mind the injury, other than it had hurt like fucking hell getting shot, since her return shot took out the leader of the cartel they were after. Her orders had been to bring him in alive, but arresting and escorting the cartel leaders’ number one in command had satisfied Susie, and Kylie’s government. She was awarded a two-month respite once she checked out of the hospital in Dallas, for her efforts and a job well done.
Kylie passed another mile marker and squinted when her brights reflected against the road sign ahead. Five miles to Mission Hills. Already buildings lined the Interstate as she got closer to her destination.
It had been two months since she last talked to Perry. Once she was buried in the Nicaraguan jungle, Internet access was limited to a “must have” basis. Chatting online with a man who’d changed her life didn’t qualify as a “must have.” And as she’d done throughout her career, she’d engrossed herself in the community, what there was where she was located down there, and taken on her assignment with everything she had. But even after being wounded and her time in the hospital, nothing she’d done managed to get Perry out of her mind.
Was he the one?
It was a question she’d fallen asleep asking herself too many times over the past few months. Now, with a slight limp she was promised would go away with continued physical therapy, thoughts of moving to a desk job had crossed her mind. It wasn’t the most appealing thought, but there was a job opening. Susie, her supervisor, was a bit too attentive to the needs of her agents at times, and had mentioned it while visiting Kylie in the hospital.
After being released, spending a week with her parents, she looked up the job opening online. John Athey’s position, supervisor of the FBI field office in Mission Hills, still hadn’t been filled. Paul qualified for the position but had turned it down. More than likely because he wouldn’t be able to sit and play his computer games as much.
“God, am I doing the right thing?” Kylie groaned.
When she’d mentioned to Susie she might come back up here to see how everyone was doing, her supervisor set up an appointment for her to meet the area field supervisor. There were no obligations, but it was more or less a job interview. “A desk job,” Kylie muttered, wondering if she could handle it.
Her mother didn’t have the insight to see it; there was still so much mending to do between the two of them. Kylie wasn’t sure if they would ever return to the closeness many mothers and daughters shared, especially now that her father was ill and most of their conversations and actions stemmed around him. But her supervisor questioned Kylie’s motives. She hated admitting her consideration of the job was based on where she might stand with Perry.
The night John Athey took a bullet to his head and Lieutenant Franco was arrested appeared a blur in her mind. Franco had ranted about Perry being the one, that all they had to do was check his computer at the station. Perry was too calm when he announced how he’d bugged his own computer, making it clear to everyone around them that he was innocent. He had set it up so anyone typing on his computer at the station would send all keystrokes to his computer at his house.
It was the days that followed that were clearer in her memory. Learning how the two men had worked together, capturing girls, torturing them, building a Web site where people could pay to see the atrocities done to many of the teenagers which they’d run out of Franco’s house. Perry had a friend in the FBI, who never blew her cover, but verified the ISP location. Athey had prevented anyone in his office from gathering the information. Rita Simoli and Maura Reynolds’ bodies were found in shallow graves on land John Athey had owned. Franco had started spilling his guts, especially after he learned his partner in crime had killed himself, anything to lessen the charges. Kylie doubted anything he said would get him anything less than life in prison. She wouldn’t be surprised if he still got the death penalty. And after it was all wrapped up, the flight out of Kansas City, talking to Perry on the phone a few times before leaving the country, and then after that a handful of times online.
Kylie accepted his story about the lady police officer at the crime scene the night she watched her grope Perry, that her actions weren’t reciprocated. Perry stressed that over and over again, his story never changing, nor his disgust for her indifference to the grotesqueness of the scene. Like Kylie, Perry was leery of any law enforcement officer who, so early in their career, wasn’t affected by the blood and gore they were sometimes exposed to.
Remembering how he had tried calling her several times a day the first couple days after she left Kansas City and how their phone conversations had changed from confrontational to friendly, and even intimate, gave Kylie hope. She had held on to the words he’d shared with her over the phone for quite a while. The phone calls ended after she left the country.
Kylie stared at the sign that welcomed her to Mission Hills as she passed it. The very next sign showed her the speed limit.
“Crap,” she hissed, hitting her brake, but it was too late. Lights flashed in her rearview and side mirrors. “Damn it. This is the last thing I need.” Like the potentially new FBI field office supervisor needed to enter the town with a speeding ticket.
She slowed quickly, watching the speedometer go down and knowing she’d been doing a good 20 miles per hour over the limit. There wouldn’t be any getting out of this, and she doubted she could use knowing one of the local cops intimately as an excuse to get the officer not to write her a ticket.
Kylie pulled to the side of the road, hit her hazards in her newer-modeled Toyota that had been in her parents’ garage for a few years now. She’d finally taken it out and decided to drive it instead of renting a car. The officer who pulled her over would run her tag and know exactly who she was. If Perry was working tonight, he would hear her name over the radio. This wasn’t how she wanted him to know she’d returned to town. Hell, she’d even thought of approaching his nieces, since she knew where they hung out, or at least where they hung out a few months ago, and paving the way to learn if approaching Perry would even be worth it. For all she knew, he’d moved on by now.
She turned off her radio, which was barely audible. Pressing her finger on the button on her door she moved her side mirror slightly to better see the officer who got out of the patrol car behind her. Red and white lights flashed in the darkness, creating the surreal image that made it harder for suspects at night to focus clearly and see their surroundings. Being accustomed to emergency vehicle lights didn’t help her get a better image of the officer who took his time closing his door and strolling patiently toward her.
More than likely he’d already run her tag.
His flashlight washed over her car, the back of her head, and then along the outside of her car while he moved closer. Kylie watched his long muscular legs, his strides controlled and confident. He was tall, muscular, his broad chest well outlined in the darkness. As he neared she moved her finger, pushing the button to lower her window.
“Get out of the car, miss.” That deep baritone sent chills rushing over her.
Kylie’s mouth went dry when she cranked her head around, but she was unable to see his face from where she sat. Her fingers were suddenly too damp when she reached for her door handle, managed to pull it and then push open her car door. Right now would not be a good time for her leg to act up and make it more difficult to get out of her car.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” he asked, his hat shading his eyes and the top part of his face.
Kylie stood, staring at Perry’s rugged facial features, noting a day’s growth, which made it harder to read his expression. She could barely see his eyes, which appeared cold, distant, and stared down at her without offering a glimpse into what he might be feeling.
“Obviously too fast,” she offered, but didn’t smile. She rested one hand on her door, not sure she wanted him to see, or know yet, the extent of how badly she was injured, or how far she still needed to go to full recovery.
“Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?” He didn’t ask for her driver’s license and registration.
Not that she was opposed to the ticket. It was obvious by watching her speedometer decelerate that she’d earned it. But this was why she’d come here, to see him. Kylie wished she could see his face better, read his facial expression. But, unless he’d moved on, he probably was guarding his feelings as much as she was guarding hers.
“I don’t know if I was in a hurry, but I was obviously not paying attention to how fast I was going. I’ve been driving all night,” she admitted, aching to take his hat off. It was as bad as if he wore dark sunglasses late at night. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and a moment of silence passed before his deep baritone brushed over her again, causing every hair on her body to stand at attention and her insides to tighten, creating a heat she was sure he must be able to notice.
“I find it hard to believe a special agent with the FBI wasn’t paying attention,” he accused. “Why are you here, Kylie?”
His cold words were a stab to her heart. He didn’t want her here. She could barely answer from the lump that threatened to close her throat. Worse yet, she didn’t know how to answer. And if she did, her voice would crack, her leg would give out, or something else would happen to make this moment turn from bad to worse.
As a warm breeze wrapped around her, a damp sweat spread over her body and her heart pattered furiously in her chest. Lately panic attacks were hitting her without warning. The psychiatrist she’d been forced to visit after being shot told her they were possibly a reaction to the medication she’d been on in the hospital. Not to mention, being shot was a traumatic experience, not only physically but also emotionally. Everyone handled it differently.
Kylie wasn’t sure she agreed either of those was the reason for her sudden erratic emotions. “I have some time off,” she heard herself say.
“So passing through again?”
Maybe it was for the best that she not even make it into town before learning she wasn’t wanted here. If she continued with this conversation she would break down, right here on the side of the interstate in the dark. Stability would return to her in time. And her own mental counseling told her that once she put closure where closure belonged and understood if there was anything between her and Perry, she would have better control of her emotions. As before, she would be able to keep them in check, under lock and key.
First, though, she feared, she needed to get that key back, because someone had stolen her heart.
“Let me get my driver’s license. You need to write your ticket.” She couldn’t take him standing there, not moving, his dark, cold manner eating her alive. “I promise not to speed again.”
He didn’t stop her, or comment, when she turned her back on him and leaned into her car. When the muscles in her outer thigh, around the mending wound, quivered as she shifted her weight, she braced herself, putting her hand on her opened door. Perry didn’t say anything, or stop her from getting her purse and registration out of her car.
An emptiness consumed her when he took her information and returned to his car. He didn’t tell her to wait in her car or follow him to his. She saw his partner sitting in the passenger seat, although she didn’t take time to note his reaction to her being here. She’d never had time to know Carl Ramos, but more than likely he would know something about her. At least Perry’s opinion of her being here when he returned to his patrol car.
Kylie felt as though she floated without direction all of a sudden. While recovering and then after spending time with her parents, she knew without a doubt she would return here. All that was on her mind throughout her recovery was seeing Perry. Maybe she should have exerted the effort to pick up the phone and call him. Why had she thought returning here would be like it was in movies, with the two of them running into each other’s arms and promising to be together forever?
Forever didn’t exist for her.
Although it seemed like forever, barely eight minutes passed before Perry returned, handing her personal information back to her, and a small clipboard for her to sign for the speeding ticket. Her hand was so damp and she was so shaken, she doubted the signature was legible. It didn’t matter. He tore her copy for her, handed it to her with his gloved hand, without bending down to see her better as she sat in her car. Another plus, tears threatened to fall and a pending pity party would release soon enough.
“You didn’t say how long you would be here,” he said, his tone still flat, unwelcoming, while he stood outside her car door.
With her window down, the temperature inside her car rose drastically. Sweat beaded over her flesh under her clothes, adding to her discomfort.
“I… I’m not sure,” she said, admitting to herself it was the truth. In spite of her two months off, did she really want to stay where she wasn’t wanted? There wasn’t any point in going to the interview. She couldn’t stay here, or work here. This was Perry’s town. If she wasn’t welcome, she wasn’t welcome.
“Where are you headed?”
That much was a simple answer. “I have reservations at the Holiday Inn.”
“I’ll follow you there.”
Kylie turned to look up at him, confused why he would suggest doing so. But he’d turned already, returning to his car.
Way too aware of his headlights beaming in her rearview mirror, Kylie was so sick to her stomach when she pulled into the hotel parking lot she couldn’t think what to do. Her luggage was in the trunk. But should she haul all of it in?
Perry parked at the edge of the parking lot, not getting out of his car, and possibly doing paperwork. He watched her when she walked into the lobby and checked in, and Kylie felt his eyes boring into her backside when she moved her car in front of her motel room door. Did he want to see how much luggage she’d brought? That would clue him in on how long she planned on staying here.
He didn’t approach her, didn’t offer to help with her luggage, and didn’t pull out of the parking lot when she finally decided on her overnight bag and laptop, then disappeared into her room and closed her door. Like she would be able to sleep with him sitting out there.
After pacing the room for fifteen minutes, sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed when her leg started throbbing and peeking out the closed curtain half a dozen times to see him still sitting there, she finally opted for a hot bath. When she got out, still nervous and feeling more out of sorts than she had when she climbed into the hot water, Perry’s patrol car was gone.
A part of her left with him. Kylie climbed into the too-large bed, cuddling into a fetal position, and let the tears fall.
On Wednesday, Kylie had been in Mission Hills for two days. Her laptop was online, available for instant messages, but none came. Her cell was fully charged, and she got several phone calls. None of them were from Perry. She’d forced herself to go to the mall, trepidation over running into one of his nieces bringing on another of her annoying panic attacks. But when she saw no one she knew, even when she drove to the grocery store and purchased a few things to eat in her motel room to give herself a break from restaurant food, the overwhelming emptiness threatened to consume her.
Perry couldn’t make his message clearer if he yelled it in her face. He was no longer interested. No matter the intimate words they had shared on the phone a couple months ago before she lost service and spent two months in the jungle, enough time had apparently passed that he no longer felt that way.
“So what to do now?” she asked her reflection, standing with her hair in a towel and her bathrobe hanging over her naked body. She’d lost a lot of weight. “That appointment is this afternoon. You go or cancel.”
Her reflection stared back at her dumbly, not answering. She shifted her attention to the phone in the room and the phone book she’d put underneath it when she’d ordered delivery the other day. Maybe she was just more bullheaded than most, but this wasn’t enough closure. It could be that she was more of a masochist than she cared to admit. She needed to be yelled at in the face to get the truth to sink in. And there was only one way to make that happen.
Sitting on the edge of the bed with the phone book, she flipped through it, surprised but pleased that Megan Vetter, Perry’s sister, was listed in the book. Using her cell phone, while a small part of her insisted that seven thirty in the morning wasn’t the best time to call a household with children when they were probably all scurrying to get ready for school, Kylie dialed the number before she lost her nerve.
She had no idea where the powerful special agent, with nerves of steel, had disappeared. But she wasn’t anywhere near while the phone rang once, twice, and a breathless girl answered with a cheery hello.
“Hi,” Kylie said, licking her dry lips. “Is Megan there?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Kylie.”
Silence. Kylie waited it out.
“Kylie who?” the girl asked.
Kylie sucked in a breath. “Kylie Donovan.”
“I knew you weren’t a college student and you insisted you were. You lied to me.” Dani hung up on her.
“Crap,” Kylie said, hanging up on her end and dropping her head into her hands. Her towel fell forward, twisted around her hair, and weighed heavy as it hung to the floor.
Her cell phone rang and she struggled to untangle the towel, then tossed it on the bed as she grabbed her cell and stared at the name on her phone. She’d never deleted Dani’s cell phone number and it was calling her now. Apparently the teenager felt she had a right to chew Kylie out more.
“Hello,” Kylie said, and headed to the bathroom for her brush before her hair dried in a tangled mess.
“Why did you lie? And you left without even saying goodbye? Do you have any idea how badly you hurt my uncle?”
“Dani, I came back here for him. But he won’t come see me. Do you have any idea-”
“You came back here for him?” Dani interrupted.
Kylie swallowed, realizing she was dumping everything she had held in the last few days on the teenager, or at least was ready to until she’d been interrupted. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Then why are you calling here?”
“Dani, he knows I’m here. He knows what hotel I’m at and what room I’m in, and since the night I arrived he hasn’t sought me out. He talked to me the night I arrived and he was so cold to me. I thought I could talk to all of you. If it is true that he isn’t interested, I’ll leave.”
“You need to tell my uncle that. He’s stubborn but not stupid. I have to go. The bus is here. Bye-bye.” Dani hung up without waiting for Kylie to tell her goodbye.
It took a teenager telling her what she knew all along. Kylie dressed quickly, keeping it simple with a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blouse, and left her hotel before she lost her nerve.
It was already hot outside but she wasn’t ready to show off her scar yet by wearing shorts. Hiding in her room wouldn’t resolve anything. She had an appointment at four o’clock this afternoon. Time was running out on determining her future.
A calm came over her as she pulled into Perry’s driveway. One way or another, very soon she would be able to lay out plans for her future, maybe even the rest of her life. No more riding in limbo. No more hiding and trembling. Her resolve returned to her as if a dam had broken inside her, returning her confidence and determination. She’d gotten this far in life reaching out and taking what she wanted. There was something else she wanted, and now was the time to take it.
Kylie parked her car, turned off the engine, and got out. His Jeep wasn’t in the driveway. She looked at her watch: eight AM. He either had left for the day or wasn’t home yet. She hoped it was the latter. It would suck if she had to break and enter and wait for him for eight hours. Kylie smiled, imagining a concerned neighbor calling Dispatch to inform them that the good cop Lieutenant Perry’s home was being broken into.
Testing the doorknob on the back door where he’d entered with Kylie before, she wasn’t surprised that it was locked. The garage was locked, too, as was the front door. Kylie would have been surprised to learn otherwise, but checking helped her kill time. She walked around to her car again, glancing at her cell phone to see the time. Fifteen minutes had passed. If he worked the night shift, he would be here in less than half an hour.
Unless he had someone else in his life now and possibly would go to her house.
Kylie kicked the thought out of her head. The connection they had was too strong. From the moment they’d met up until her leaving, the feelings between them were so intense they created charged currents in the air. It was more than a sexual attraction. At least she knew it was for her. More than once while she was in the hospital, the last thing she could have done was made love, yet she still craved being with him. Too many times she wanted to call him. And she’d chickened out.
Her chickenshit days were over.
Kylie leaned against the back of her Toyota, crossing one leg over the other, and watched large green leaves rustle in the trees, as a warm breeze seemed to bring everything around her to life. Why was she just now noticing how gorgeous this part of the country was?
Eight fifteen passed, then eight twenty. She studied her fingernails, the way her shoes looked on her feet. She stared up and down the quiet street. Maybe he did work the day shift, even though he’d worked the night shift a couple days ago. She would give him five more minutes.
She heard the engine before she saw his Jeep. Perry came around the corner slowly, their eyes locking immediately. Her stomach twisted into so many knots she couldn’t breathe. But nor could she take her eyes off his. Perry wasn’t wearing a hat any longer. He didn’t have on sunglasses. She locked gazes with his, drowning in that dark, commanding stare that never left hers.
He parked behind her car. She wouldn’t be able to leave until he moved it. Was that a good sign?
Kylie dragged in a deep breath, which got stuck around the lump in her throat. Perry turned off his car but then sat there, staring at her, his long fingers wrapped around his steering wheel. She’d come this far. She wouldn’t go any farther. Perry would get out of his Jeep and come to her. She wouldn’t walk to him.
Maybe he read her mind. When he stepped out of the car, his uniform clinging to him as if he’d sweated a lot during his shift, or for some reason had been wet, she couldn’t help dropping her gaze and appreciating the bulging muscle easily viewed through the taut material.
If anything, his dark hair seemed a bit longer, with slight curls covering his ears and looking sexy as hell. His green eyes were so intense they stole her breath, but his slow, quiet way he stalked her reminded Kylie of a predator moving in on his prey. It was almost too much. She felt her wounded leg quiver and worried if she stared much longer she’d drool down her jaw while her legs gave out and turned her into a puddle of pent-up desire at his feet.
Perry stopped within a few feet of her, crossing his arms over his chest and taking his time letting his gaze travel over her. Kylie’s skin prickled. There wasn’t disapproval on his face. If anything, his relaxed features looked less guarded than they did the night she drove into town.
“Did Dani call you?” She broke the silence.
“Nope.”
Kylie nodded. He wasn’t going to make this easy. But then she already knew not a damn thing about Perry Flynn was easy. “I need some answers, Perry.”
His green eyes darkened, causing her insides to tremble with nervous anticipation.
“I need a shower.” He jingled his keys in his hand. “And I haven’t eaten since yesterday. We can talk in a bit.”
Perry started to the door and she walked as far as her car door, not sure whether she was invited inside or not. But when he unlocked his door, he stood to the side, looking her way. Kylie did her best not to limp toward him.
“What happened to you?” he asked from behind her, closing the door and then following her into his kitchen.
Obviously her limp was more noticeable than she wished. “I got shot.”
“Where?”
She didn’t know if he meant where as in where had she been when she got shot or where on her body. She placed her hand gently over her outer thigh just below her right hip. “Right here while I was in Nicaragua.”
“How bad was it?”
“I was in the hospital for two weeks.” She wasn’t sure if telling him more would open up the conversation or simply make her appear the damaged goods she felt like she was half the time now.
When he didn’t say anything and she turned around, he lifted his gaze to her face. Kylie wasn’t sure whether he was looking where her injuries were or somewhere else.
“I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.” He walked through his house, leaving her standing in the kitchen.
And he had told her to make herself at home.
Half an hour later, when Kylie heard the water turn off in the shower, she had bacon ready, coffee brewed, and toast buttered. Since she didn’t know how he liked his eggs, she held off on making them, but the carton sat on his counter. She wiped the counter and turned when he appeared from the other room, his hair almost black from being damp, and wearing only boxers.
She was sure her admiration was written all over her face.
“You made me breakfast?” He sounded impressed.
She forced her gaze from his rippling chest muscles to his face. “You said to make myself at home.” She pointed to the eggs. “I don’t know how you like your eggs.”
“Kylie, why are you here?” The look he gave her made it appear he’d been torturing himself trying to learn the answer.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one enduring a personal hell.
She put the washcloth on the counter and rubbed her hands down her jeans. It was time for reckoning, laying her cards on the table and seeing where it got her. No more waiting. No more praying things would work out to her advantage without her making an effort to make it happen.
“I’m afraid I left something here when I left a few months ago.”
“What was that?”
Her mouth was suddenly too dry when she lost herself in those sensual dark eyes of his. “My heart,” she whispered.
She couldn’t breathe when he simply studied her, not saying anything for a moment and not moving from where he stood damn near naked several feet away from her.
“So what will you do? Get it and leave again?”
“Well, that depends.”
“On what? Are you leaving the FBI?” He sounded incredulous, clearly understanding she could no more leave her line of work than he could his.
She shook her head, not taking her focus from him. “I came back to see you.” Her voice cracked. For whatever reasons, telling him she had a job interview would make it sound as though she was begging for his attention. If he wouldn’t come to her now, she’d taken all the steps she could to make something happen between them.
Perry walked to her and she didn’t dare move. When he was inches away, he took a slice of bacon from where it lay on a paper towel, draining. She watched him slide it into his mouth and then chew. His jaw muscles constricted. Roped muscle spreading from his shoulders flexed when he turned. But when he lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes, afraid to breathe.
“There’s been a lot of loss in this town over the past few months,” he said, his deep baritone gentle, quiet, but still sounding distant and serious. “My nieces, who have already endured the loss of their father, went through the pain of losing friends in their classes.” He paused for a moment. “And you.”
“I know. I got an earful this morning,” she admitted, focusing on the spread of dark curls that traveled over his tanned chest. “You know I couldn’t tell them who I really was.”
“Yup.” He picked up another piece of bacon and then walked to his refrigerator.
Kylie focused on his back, deciding he’d lost a few pounds, too, over the past few months. Her attention shot to the red mark that stretched over his shoulder blade, bright and puffy and shaped like a bolt of lightning. She cleared the distance between them, touching the puffy skin and acknowledging the fresh wound.
“You’re hurt.”
Perry spun around, his eyes on fire when he grabbed her wrist, pinching her skin as he held it firmly against his heart. “I helped pull a couple out of a car that capsized in the river earlier tonight when we couldn’t reach a diver,” he explained. “The pain from it will go away before long. I’m not worried about it. What I am worried about are the girls, me, what is mine,” he said, his fierceness unleashed on her.
Kylie looked up at him, her lips parted and her breath coming hard. Emotions he’d apparently managed to keep at bay, possibly as long as she’d been gone, suddenly tumbled at her like an avalanche. And he held on to her, refusing to let go and staring down at her with a hard stare that bordered on violent.
“It hurt when you walked out of my life, hurt really fucking bad. And I knew you were leaving. But then I had to deal with the girls, who were not only recovering from the hysteria and trauma involved with a madman stalking one of them, and with girls they knew having been brutally murdered, but also with a sense of betrayal they felt from you.”
“Perry,” she breathed, knowing nothing she could say right now would take away the pain and heartache he had to deal with.
“So if you’ve come back to stay, we’ll talk. But if you’re here for a short while, only to leave to start again in another town, then there isn’t anything for us to say.” He let go of her wrist, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, and walked out of the kitchen.
Hell. She didn’t know if she had come back to stay unless she knew where things were with them. He wanted it just the opposite, and she wasn’t sure how to give it to him like that.
Taking a moment, finding one of his coffee cups and pouring herself coffee, she then found a plate, poured the stack of bacon onto it, added the two slices of buttered toast, and followed him. She walked through the masculine looking living room, which appeared almost dusty from lack of use, to the den where his computer was. He sat in front of it, not looking at her, with the glow from the monitor creating a shiny texture in his hair. His bedroom door was open, the lights off in there and the lingering smell from his shower drifting toward her. It didn’t seem so long ago she had been here, although then her concerns had been so different.
Kylie placed the plate of food next to the keyboard. Then nursing her coffee, she walked around his desk to his gun case, the only item in the room that appeared dusted and well maintained. She stared at the expensive collection of weapons housed behind the glass.
“I’ve been injured, Perry,” she began, not knowing where to start in bridging the gap between them. She did know she wanted to, more than she’d wanted anything in her life; she would sweat out this conversation until they found ground to coexist on.
“I can see that,” he said, his mouth full of food. When the silence drifted between them again, he chewed and swallowed. “Thanks for making me breakfast. It is really good.”
“You’re welcome.” She didn’t turn around, unable to stare into those all-knowing eyes and say what was in her heart. “I was promised a month’s vacation after Nicaragua, but after injuring myself, I’ve now been given two months off.”
“So you’re here for two months?” Perry asked, sounding very matter-of-fact.
Kylie couldn’t turn this into a mathematical equation, giving him figures and making everything cut-and-dry. Her thigh pinched with pain when she shifted, finally facing him and balancing herself against his desk. “I don’t know how long I’m here for, Perry. It isn’t all black and white. There are gray areas. And I doubt one conversation between you and me can clear all those areas up.”
“I’m not going to endure the pain,” he said firmly.
“Relationships are about pain,” she argued, fighting not to lose her temper with his insistence they create some kind of damn contract that neither one of them would ever stray from. “They are about love and happiness, too. But I can’t promise never to hurt you any more than you could make me the same offer.”
“I would never hurt you,” he hissed.
“You’re hurting me right now,” she yelled. “You hurt me the moment I laid eyes on you when I was coming into town. And for the past two days I’ve been dying inside, desperate to know where I stood with you. But that didn’t send me running.”
She put her cup down too hard on his desk and some of it spilled onto her hand. Bringing her burnt flesh to her lips, she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down and say what needed to be said to get them past this point. She jumped when strong arms grabbed her, pulling her from the desk.
“Sit down before you fall down,” Perry said, his bare chest brushing against her arm and then her back, as he guided her into his bedroom. “So you’re here for two months. Are you staying at that motel for two months?”
He stood in front of her and Kylie’s heart started pounding when she realized she sat on the edge of his bed. He’d moved her so quickly, obviously more in tune with her movements and how standing for long periods or walking was still difficult to do. She stared at his strong body, at his sleek dark hair, and then into his gaze that was damn near sinful with the intensity that glowed there.
“I checked out,” she admitted.
“And you came here. Are you leaving?”
“No,” she whispered.
Perry leaned over her, pushing her backward until she lay sideways on his bed. Kylie wrapped her arms around his neck, his damp hair torturing her feverish flesh as she pulled him to her, needing to taste him, to feel him against her. If only she knew in her heart what she felt now would last, forever.
His kiss wasn’t gentle. But she didn’t want that. He pressed her lips open, moving in and demanding she give him all she had.
Kylie dragged her fingers over his shoulders, feeling his muscles twitch where she touched him. The heat from his body sunk deep inside her, filling the void that had grown to its painful size the longer she’d been apart from him. As she opened, sighing into the kiss, Kylie experienced the overwhelming sensation that she’d come home, for the first time in her life.
And as quickly as the sensation hit her, the need also attacked her to have him inside her. Talking all of this out no longer seemed as important as making love to him. It had been three long months.
“Perry,” she whispered, moving her lips against his.
“Kylie,” he responded, making her name sound better than anything she’d heard him say since she got here.
“I need to get out of my clothes.”
“Yes. You do.” He moved his hand between them, pushing her shirt up over her breasts with a quick thrust. Then his fingers tortured her belly as he worked the snap loose on her jeans and unzipped her zipper. “What is the best way?” he asked.
She didn’t understand his question until he lifted himself off her, taking her shirt with him and sliding it over her head. He tossed it to the side and looked like a starving man as he stared at her. Kylie never felt more beautiful in all of her life, and she doubted seriously she was looking her best these days.
“The best way?” she asked.
He pulled her to her feet, keeping her close with his arms around her as he slid her jeans down her hips. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered against her neck, placing gentle kisses along her collarbone.
She realized he meant because of her injury. “I’m not sure. I haven’t had sex since-” She broke off, looking up into his sensual green eyes. “Since I’ve been with you,” she finished her sentence, growing incredibly warm under his heated stare even as she shed her clothing.
“Good.” He said the one word so firmly Kylie didn’t doubt anymore that whatever their issues, they would work them out. “Neither have I.”
“Good.” She couldn’t help grinning.
Taking a moment to kick off her shoes and step out of her jeans, she then wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning into him and kissing him.
When he placed her once again on his bed, it felt better than she remembered it feeling having his flesh touching hers. Her thigh was tender, and she was aware of the gash stretching down his back when she kept her exploration to his shoulders and arms. In spite of neither of them being in perfect condition, Kylie was positive their lovemaking was hotter, filled with more passion, and more intense than it had been before she left him.
His kisses went from gentle and tender to needy and demanding. When he scraped his rough fingertips against her flesh, the tingles that rushed over her were almost enough to make her come. Perry scraped his teeth over her nipples and sucked first one and then the other like a starving man. The pressure that built inside her as he administered his torturous attention to her body filled her with desire to have more of him. With every touch, every kiss, Kylie knew she was right where she belonged, and understood now why she felt so unsettled until she returned to Perry’s side.
He was her soul mate, her other half. Regardless of their lines of work, they would make their relationship last. She didn’t doubt it for a moment. Perry was her man. And she was his woman.
“I love you, Kylie,” he whispered against her mouth when he finally glided deep inside her.
His words along with the pressure he applied took her over the edge. She ignored the pang in her thigh when she arched underneath him, gripping his arms and actually panting as she fought to catch her breath.
“Oh, God, Perry,” she cried, feeling another emotional roller coaster hit her, and worried she might start crying in the middle of making love to him. “I most definitely love you, too.” And she had for quite a while now, possibly well before leaving him.
“Don’t leave me again.” It wasn’t an order, although not quite a request. And he didn’t wait for a response.
Perry impaled her, and when she howled from the depth he reached, he devoured her mouth, taking all she offered and giving as much in return. Her world tilted, all anxiety, the panic attacks, her worries and pain vanishing as their bodies became one. She exploded, the dam of passion releasing and her orgasm pushing her to a new level.
He continued fucking her, bringing her to a hard orgasm several more times, obviously not exhausted in spite of working all night. When he finally released, deep inside her, pumping all he had until his body was covered with a shiny sheen of sweat, his bulging muscles appeared larger and more defined. It was definitely the sexiest view she’d ever witnessed in her life.
Kylie relaxed slowly, taking time to catch her breath while running her fingertips over the tight, dark curls in the middle of his chest. “This afternoon at four I have a job interview,” she told him, knowing the time was right.
“Oh?” He didn’t roll over next to her when he slowly pulled out but instead moved to a sitting position, pulling her into his arms and cradling her with her injured thigh away from him. He moved his finger slowly around the still-tender scar and slightly puffy flesh where the bullet had entered her. “I thought you weren’t leaving the FBI.”
“It’s an interview for the supervisor’s position at the field office here in town.”
His gaze shot to hers, one eyebrow tilting slightly as his gaze narrowed on hers. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this sooner? You have come back to stay.”
His excitement was so noticeable it was impossible not to smile. “Perry, I needed to know you wanted me here no matter what.”
“You knew I did,” he growled.
“I thought you did until you were so cold toward me when you pulled me over for speeding.” She spoke easily, relaxing in his arms and letting her head rest against his arm. “Then I wasn’t sure what to do. I almost left, but couldn’t without talking to you first.”
“I didn’t want to endure the pain of you entering my life again only to leave.”
“There is a possibility I might be here for good.” She studied his face closely and saw only the love he’d professed to her while making love to her.
“Do you want a desk job?” He surprised her with the question.
When she was sure he would be excited at the prospect of her remaining in Mission Hills, Perry knew her well enough, even after being apart for three months, to know the thrill of solving the case, being on the streets and piecing together the puzzle pieces, meant more to her than anything else in her life. Although she was beginning to believe Perry meant as much to her.
“It’s going to take a while before I’m completely healed,” she admitted, noting how easy it was to share that information with him when only a few weeks ago the knowledge had made her sick to her stomach. “And there is no insurance I’ll get the job here in town, but my supervisor in Dallas arranged for the interview with the area field supervisor. I have a feeling the job will be mine if I want it. I’ve put in my time, and since I’ve been injured, they know my experience and knowledge of solving cases can still be put to good use with me running the office here in town.”
Perry glanced at his dresser, where a clock radio glowed with digital numbers. It was already almost ten in the morning. “I need to get some shut-eye, and have to be at work at five. But I’ll take you to that interview.”
She could drive herself, but the thought of having him take her, wishing her luck, and being there afterward so she could share what had happened sounded really appealing.
“Have you had enough to eat?” she asked.
Perry was already pulling the blankets back on his bed, keeping her in his arms while adjusting their bodies until they lay next to each other in his bed. “I have for now,” he growled, nipping at her ear. “You should take a nap, too. You’re going to need to be rested. I have a feeling I’m going to wake up a starving man.”
“There will be plenty for you to eat when you wake up.” She cuddled in next to him, the warmth of his body enveloping her and assuring her once again she was home, for good.
Home was where her heart was, and she had known she’d find it if she came back.
Read on for an excerpt from the next book
by Lorie O’ Clare
Play Dirty
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Greg King loved not having to worry about getting a warrant. But if he shot to kill, he would face murder charges. He really did hate some of the laws on the books.
Keeping his Glock pointed to the ground, he hit the street, humidity causing his shirt to cling to him like a second skin. It wasn’t even light out yet. It would be another scorcher, tolerable only if he nailed the fugitive they’d been tracking since two AM before the sun got too high in the sky.
And they said life would be boring once he retired from the LAPD.
“Marc, you in place?” he hissed into his Bluetooth.
“Yup,” Marc whispered in his ear, sounding somewhat winded. “Stationary and ready for fireworks.”
“Jake, what’s it like out front?”
“All quiet. He’s still in there.” Jake’s anxious tone sounded as if he were running high on adrenaline.
But then, weren’t they all. It had been one hell of a night.
“I’m going in,” Greg informed his sons.
Marc and Jake both loved the kill, although technically no one died. Or they weren’t supposed to. Greg and his sons were only paid when they brought their prey in alive. A dead fugitive was no good to the bondsman who’d hired them, or in this case, bondswoman.
Greg knew the craving to make the bust, bring down the fugitive, and slap on those cuffs, ran strong enough in his blood that both of his boys would get high from the adventure just like he did. Pulling all-nighters like this never got old. Dealing with the bureaucratic red tape that forced him to wait on judges’ signatures and stalling until he got the go-ahead from his senior officers got old as hell. Those days were behind him now. Being a bounty hunter allowed him freedom to do exactly what he planned on doing right now, and would have killed to do for the past twenty years.
Greg cut between the dilapidated house and the house next door where Charlie Woods supposedly lived, moving silently in spite of his size. Size did matter. No one would convince him otherwise. But Greg knew how to move his over-six-foot-tall body-six foot four inches to be exact-without disturbing a soul. There wasn’t any reason to wake the entire neighborhood simply because Pedro thought he could jump bail and make a run for it. Charlie was a known member of the Hell Cats, a gang Pedro Gutierrez had once belonged to. According to reliable sources, Pedro was hiding out at Charlie’s. Greg wouldn’t learn the truth by simply knocking on the door.
He reached the backyard and hurried across the lawn, slowing when he reached the metal screen door. He kept his gun down, pulling the door open with his left hand, then braced it with his body as he turned the handle on the door.
“Are you in?” Jake demanded, his whispered question sounding as if he stood right behind his father.
Greg took his hand off the doorknob and adjusted the earpiece so his son wasn’t yelling in his ear.
“It’s locked,” he growled, having half a mind to shoot the fucking doorknob off the door. “I’m trying the windows.”
“We’re coming in through the front,” Marc decided, breaking in on the conversation.
“Like hell,” Greg said, keeping his voice to a barely audible whisper. “He’s fucking armed and dangerous. We’re working against a ticking time bomb. You two wait for my go-ahead.”
Already he was around the back of the house, edging his way to the nearest window. It was probably a bedroom window and quite possibly where their guy might be hiding out. Greg stared at the dark window, blinds, possibly curtains, or even a mattress, that were making it impossible to see inside. The storm window was up, though, and the window wasn’t so high off the ground or too small that he couldn’t haul his rather large frame through it if he moved quickly. The element of surprise was his only advantage right now.
“Go ahead and call in backup,” Greg told Marc.
“I’m on it,” his son announced.
Greg didn’t bother asking if that meant they were already on their way or not. They would get here when they got here. Greg wasn’t waiting.
Sliding his gun into his holster, Greg pulled out his pocketknife and flipped it open. It wasn’t the kind of knife most fathers carried around with them. The razor-sharp blade would cut through the metal of the screen frame if he wanted it to. Instead, he sliced the screen, imagining their fugitive would probably try suing if he owned this dump and charging him for breaking and entering plus vandalizing his home. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Maybe he didn’t get the protection offered when he wore the uniform. He had to be careful how he went about making his arrests. But at least today red tape was something he would slice through with his handy little pocketknife. Greg ran his own show these days. All that mattered was that the bonds company got their fugitive and Greg got his check.
He sliced the screen, starting in the top left corner and gutting it down the middle, then cutting along the bottom until the screen peeled to the side for him. Greg reached through it, feeling it scrape his damp flesh above his leather glove, and pushed the window up. It lifted with a whiny squeak, obviously complaining from lack of use.
“I’m heading in,” he whispered to his sons. “Move now!”
Greg King wasn’t a small man. More than once in his life, living in Los Angeles, people had asked if he was a professional wrestler. His size didn’t bother him, and it wouldn’t slow him down now. Snapping his pocketknife shut and sheathing it into the leather case attached to his belt, Greg hoisted himself through the window, feeling the wooden frame of the window rake over his shoulders and then his legs. He fell to his side on a dirty wooden floor and immediately pulled his gun, forcing his eyes to adjust quickly to his surroundings as he looked around.
Other than a box spring and mattress that didn’t have a sheet or blankets on it, there wasn’t any furniture in the room. Crumpled fast-food bags and crunched beer cans gave the room the appearance of being one big trash dump.
“Did you hear that?” a man asked from the other room.
“Sounds like we have company.” The thick Hispanic accent sounded just like Pedro Gutierrez, a well-known drug lord and arms dealer who’d been arrested last month and yesterday afternoon failed to show up for court. His probation officer couldn’t find him and the bondswoman was getting nervous.
It was a stupid move on Pedro’s part. He obviously didn’t check the statistics before deciding to run. No criminal ran from Los Angeles and got away. This was his town and Greg was too good. His track record spoke for itself.
“Who the fuck is back there?” the man roared, obviously not afraid at all of the boogeyman being in a dark bedroom.
Nor did he turn on the bedroom light as he stormed in, which was just fine with Greg.
“Hello, Pedro,” he said calmly, pointing his gun straight at the man’s face.
Pedro apparently had no manners. He didn’t return the greeting but instead hauled ass toward the other end of the house. Greg charged after him, feeling the house shake from the two of them running through it.
It wasn’t a long hallway, but Greg didn’t catch the shadow in time that appeared from the bedroom across the hall. He saw the baseball bat, heard the whooshing sound when it sliced through the air.
“Son of a bitch,” he wailed, turning and raising his arm. He braced himself for the pain he’d experience in the next moment as he planned on smacking the bat out of his assailant’s hands.
Intense pain shot across his shoulder and down his spine. The bat hit the side of his neck, just above his shoulder, with enough driving force to knock Greg against the hallway wall.
“Fucking hell,” he roared, although the words damn near caught in his throat when his windpipe smashed closed, stealing his breath, and racking every inch of his body.
Hitting the wall with the other shoulder didn’t make matters any better. The intense headache he’d probably have to deal with the rest of the day slammed into his brain instantly.
A dark, burly-looking man bellowed something in Spanish that didn’t sound very friendly and Pedro responded, their guttural slang difficult for Greg to translate. Especially when pain ransacked his body and a ringing started in his head as he slumped against the wall. The burly motherfucker shoved him out of the way, causing Greg to lose his footing, and then bounded after Pedro, leaving him to hold up the slimy wall.
At least he hadn’t been shot. Maybe the two men weren’t armed. The pain hurt like fucking hell, but he’d have to worry about that later. Reaching for his neck, he cringed from the intense pain that shot down his arm. There wasn’t any blood, though.
“I didn’t give up a night’s sleep so you could give me a migraine and get away,” Greg cursed, using the hallway wall to push himself to his feet. It seemed his legs were heavier than usual when he tried running after them, and he damn near fell on his face. “Tough it up, King,” he ordered himself.
They couldn’t get far. His boys were out front and on the side of the house. Unless they’d already entered. He was in the living room, staring at the open front door when he heard gunfire.
“Son of a bitch!” he hissed. Haley would never forgive him if one of the boys were seriously injured, or worse, while working a job.
He ignored the pain and ran out of the house, not having to worry about his eyes adjusting this time. It wasn’t much lighter outside than it was in the house, but the pain made everything blur. Flashing reds and whites gave the front yard a surreal look. It was odd that moments like this caused him to think of his deranged wife.
“You have the right to remain silent,” a young rookie Greg didn’t recognize said as he continued shoving Charlie Woods toward a squad car. His tone was harsh and full of himself, as if he’d been the one chasing Pedro all night.
“Dad!” Jake yelled, hurrying across the yard.
Greg noticed Marc talking to Margaret Young, one of the bondsmen, or to be politically correct, bondspeople, that the Kings worked with on a regular basis. Jake reached Greg’s side, grabbing his arm on his injured side.
“Where’s Pedro?” Greg demanded, grabbing his boy’s arm and holding on to it tighter than he probably should have when he pulled his son’s hand off him.
“We got them,” Jake said, not complaining even if Greg’s hold on him was painful. “Are you okay?” he asked, as Marc headed across the lawn to join them.
“I nabbed Pedro,” Marc announced, giving his dad a quick once-over. Although Marc was the oldest at twenty-five, Jake stood an inch or so taller. Both were built like their old man, although at the moment, Greg didn’t feel incredibly intimidating as many claimed the three of them appeared when standing together. “Charlie Woods was with him and they’re reading his rights to him right now. Margaret has one more. Apparently this one was nabbed at the same time as Gutierrez and missed his court date yesterday afternoon, too.”
There were squad cars up and down the street, their lights flashing and lighting up the whole block. Greg and his boys might have done all the grunt work, but the uniforms loved being there for all the glory. It didn’t surprise him the moment they called in for backup that it was a race to get here so one of the men on the force could make the arrest. Greg had years of putting more of these hoods behind bars than he cared to count. He didn’t need to slap handcuffs on some punk to know he was good. But he’d run his ass off throughout the night and the officers now on the scene weren’t giving him the time of day. Now if any of the older boys had been here for the bust, they would have treated Greg differently. It was these young punks in uniform who didn’t know how to show respect.
Another time he might have grumbled that he didn’t make the arrest after doing all the grunge work but suddenly none of that mattered. Something distracted him.
Greg barely heard his son. He stared at a woman who stood down the street, partially hidden in shadows. His head and shoulder were pounding, causing a ringing sound in his head that damn near drowned out anything his boys said. But it was as if tunnel vision had kicked in and all he saw was the woman, returning his stare while standing a good distance from the crowd of officers around the house.
As crazy as the scene was becoming, she stared at him as if it were just the two of them there. She wore a pale pink jogging outfit, tight spandex that hugged her small waist. Her skin was tanned and her light brown hair cut short, shorter than he remembered it, her natural color that he hadn’t seen since high school, and it was kinky from the humidity.
Six years might have passed, but he would know Haley if it had been sixty years and a hundred people stood between them.