Freefall (26 page)

Then a figure crept out of nowhere.

Javier snapped to attention, his pulse jackknifing. A man approached Faith’s apartment complex on foot. He wore a jean jacket and motorcycle boots. His hair was cut military-style. He hurried up the sidewalk, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. If he’d looked a little less conspicuous, Javier might have assumed he lived there. He reached for something underneath his jacket as he entered the stairway.

Hijo de puta.

There was no time for stealth, so Javier burst from the bushes and ran across the street. His only weapon was a bike chain wrapped around his fist. He clenched his fingers around the skin-warmed metal, his teeth gritted.

The instant Javier came through the entrance, he realized his mistake. The guy was lying in wait
for him.
He punched Javier in the face, hard. Javier reeled sideways from the impact, but he didn’t let it knock him off balance. Instead of fighting against the momentum, he used it to spin around and strike back.

His chain-heavy fist slammed into the other guy’s midsection, making him grunt in pain. The man was quick to retaliate with a brutal uppercut.

Javier staggered backward.

His opponent scrambled up the stairs, disappearing around the corner. Javier wiped the blood from his mouth, surprised he was still alive. This dumb-ass had gotten the drop on him, but he’d wasted his advantage.

If he had a gun, why hadn’t he used it?

Unraveling the chain from his throbbing fist, he ascended the stairwell. This was Faith’s section. At the corner, Javier hesitated, listening for movement. Sure enough, his attacker was right there. When the barrel of a pistol came into view, Javier swung his chain. The weapon discharged as the metal struck, burying a bullet in the stucco. Neither of them could hang on. As the chain flew out of his stinging hands, the gun clattered down the stairs.

Now Javier was going to make him pay.

Leaping up the last step, he advanced. Grabbing his opponent by the back of his jacket, he drove his head into the rough-textured wall. The man struggled to break free, so Javier body-checked him again.

When he was sufficiently stunned, Javier wrenched his arm behind his back. “You came here to hurt an innocent woman?”

“I came for you,” he panted.

“Who sent you?”

He didn’t answer. Javier doubted the Gonzales family had hired him, because he wasn’t ruthless enough. Maybe he worked for the same boss as Nick. Before Javier could squeeze him for information, a woman appeared at the top of the stairway, her gun drawn.

“We’re FBI,” she shouted. “Drop your weapon!”

She didn’t know he was unarmed. He glanced to his right, toward a railing that overlooked the pool. Fuck it. He shoved his attacker at the female agent and launched over it, dropping twenty feet before he hit the cool blue water. His elbow brushed the coping, narrowly missing a bone-shattering impact.

He sank all the way to the bottom and used his feet to push up, bubbles floating from his nostrils. When he surfaced, he felt as if he were swimming in slow motion. His clothes hampered his efforts and his shoes grew heavy. Gasping for breath, he found the edge and climbed over it, sloshing water as he lunged toward the gate.

“Jay!”

It was Faith. She called him by the wrong name. Maybe she preferred Jay, the nice guy, to Javier, the lowlife. But he couldn’t resist one last look, so he glanced up. The female agent was running down the steps with his opponent. Faith stood on the terrace, leaning against the railing as if she wanted to jump.

His heart lodged in his throat.

“Que...que nos encontramos otra vez!”

Her Spanish wasn’t perfect, but she was.

“Ojalá,”
he said, kissing his fingertips.

God willing.

And he escaped through the gate, into the dark night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

H
OPE
WOKE
to
a phone call from Faith.

She said that Special Agent Ling had almost caught Javier Del Norte at her apartment. The FBI had set up a sting that didn’t quite work. Javier had thwarted Faith’s would-be attacker and jumped off the balcony to get away.

“Why weren’t you at Charlie’s?” Hope asked.

“I’m going there now.”

She furrowed a hand through her hair, sighing.

“I think it’s over,” Faith said, sounding melancholy.

“What is?”

“Everything.”

After making sure her sister was safe, Hope hung up the phone, promising to call her in the morning.

Was it really over? Gonzales was dead. Kruger and Morgenstern were dead. Meeks was in custody. The main players in the organization had been taken down, and the worst of the danger had passed. She’d rest easier when Dixon was cleared, but she felt reassured by the progress in the investigation.

She rose from the guest bed, her stomach growling. It was past midnight, and she’d skipped dinner.

Downstairs, Owen was awake, raiding the fridge. He gathered the ingredients to make a sandwich and carried them to the granite countertop, wincing in discomfort. His pain medication must have worn off.

“Let me,” she said, taking the loaf of bread from his hand.

He probably wanted to do it himself, but her proximity made him uncomfortable. Muttering an agreement, he shuffled away and sat down at a barstool.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not bad.”

“You slept for a long time.”

“I had a nightmare,” he said, frowning.

“About what?”

“I can’t remember.”

“You called out for Penny.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, seeming embarrassed. “I still dream about the earthquake sometimes.”

She started building the sandwiches, not wanting to disturb him with nosy questions. When she lifted the mustard jar questioningly, he nodded. “And this?” she asked, noticing the ketchup container.

“My mom makes them that way.”

Hope added ketchup to his sandwich and sliced it down the middle, putting some potato chips on the side of the plate.

“Thanks,” he said, digging in.

“Where is your mom?”

“Salton City.”

“You’re from there?”

“Yep.”

Hope didn’t ask if he planned to go back. Salton was a dead-end desert town a few hours east of San Diego. She imagined that most young men wouldn’t return by choice. “That’s a rough place to grow up.”

He shrugged, taking another bite.

She finished making her own sandwich and sat down next to him. They ate in companionable silence. “Sam showed me a picture of Penny.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s lovely.”

A flush crept up his neck. He couldn’t deny this.

“I asked him if her son was yours.”

His eyes widened. “Why would you think that?”

“His coloring, I guess. And the way you looked together in the picture.”

Owen didn’t respond for several minutes. Finally he said, “If he was mine, I’d live closer and take care of him.”

“Where do they live?”

“Los Angeles.”

She heard the yearning in his voice, the dull ache. It gnawed her insides, too, whenever she thought of Grace.

“I like Sam with you,” he said, changing the subject.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen him act this way.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Before you, he had two moods. Pissed off and indifferent.”

Her lips quirked into a reluctant smile. “How many does he have now?”

“Three, at least.”

She finished her last bite of sandwich, considering.

“Are you going to give him a chance?”

“I don’t know,” she said, pushing her plate away. “It’s great that he got his memory back. He claims I had something to do with his recovery. I wonder if he’s...overstimulated. Hopped up on adrenaline.”

“You think he
enjoyed
getting hit over the head, or searching the river for you?”

“No,” she said. “I’m just not sure his feelings are real.”

He pondered her words carefully. “You’re right about one thing. A life-or-death situation can bring people together who might not normally...get along. It’s a bonding experience. But that doesn’t mean the relationships won’t work out. Lauren and Garrett are a good example. They just got married.”

“They met during the earthquake?”

“Yes, and I know they’re for real.”

His affection for Penny and her son seemed genuine, as well. She murmured good-night to him and wandered back upstairs, uncertain.

Taking a shower always helped her think, so she climbed into the stall in the guest bath and let the pounding water soothe her. When she came out, the answer was clear. She had to take Faith’s advice and start living.

Sam might hurt her. She might hurt him. Whatever happened would be a move forward, which they both desperately needed.

She didn’t have any clean clothes to wear, so she wrapped a towel around her body and glanced in the closet. He had an expensive set of golf clubs that looked unused. There were a couple of dry suits and wetsuits, as well as a somber three-piece. She fingered the cloth, wondering why he kept this garment here with his sporting equipment. When a flash of gold in the back of the closet caught her eye, she pushed the suits aside.

It was an urn. Melissa’s ashes. Apparently Sam had never gone to the summit at Mount Whitney to distribute them.

She closed the door quietly, her pulse racing. Was he ready to move on, or just using Hope as a temporary replacement? He said he was in love with her. Although she returned his feelings, she was nervous about taking the plunge.

Sam was a good man. Not a perfect man. He’d been honest with her about his plans to continue climbing. She felt reassured, if a bit exasperated, by his dedication. He wouldn’t be an easy person to live with, but there was something comforting about that. She needed a strong partner, and so did he. They could challenge each other.

Clutching the towel to prevent it from slipping, she tiptoed to his bedroom. It was dark, but the door was ajar. When she knocked, it swung open.

He sat up in bed. “Hope?”

“Were you asleep?”

“Not really,” he said, reaching out to turn on a bedside lamp. He was shirtless, a sheet tangled around his waist.

She closed the door behind her, trying not to stare at his beautifully sculpted physique. She’d seen it all and more. “I need to borrow some clothes.”

He pointed at a chest of drawers on the other side of the room. It was a spare, masculine space, devoid of personal touches. She padded across the hardwood floor, glancing at her reflection in the rectangular mirror on the wall. Her eyes were wide with trepidation, her hair a disarray of damp curls.

What a temptress. Not.

“There should be some T-shirts on top,” he said, watching her.

She opened the first drawer, selecting a soft gray V-neck and a pair of striped cotton boxer shorts.

“I’ll take you by your place tomorrow to pick up a few things.”

Setting the clothes on top of the dresser, she turned to face him. “I have an appointment with a therapist at ten o’clock.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “It’s a date.”

He smiled back at her. Attending each other’s doctor visits might become a regular activity for them. Then her choice of words sank in, and his expression changed. He jumped up from the bed in his underwear. “A date?”

She nodded.

His throat worked in agitation as he approached her. He seemed eager, but uncertain about where this was going. His utter lack of confidence was endearing, and kind of a turn-on. She suddenly felt very pleased with her decision.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She let her towel drop to indicate that she was. His eyes darkened, traveling from her face to her breasts. Her nipples tightened from the visual caress. He continued south, lingering on the abbreviated triangle at the apex of her thighs.

Instead of touching her, he stood motionless, seeming sort of lust-struck. That suited her fine. She’d been fantasizing about exploring his lovely muscles, rousing him with her mouth. When she stepped forward, smoothing her palms over his pecs, his erection bumped her middle. She let out a huff of laughter.

“What?”

“You’re already hard,” she said, pressing her lips to the base of his throat. She squeezed his biceps, her nipples brushing his chest. When she slid her hand down his corrugated stomach, into the waistband of his boxer shorts, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I can’t help it.”

She noticed his gaze drift over her shoulder. She followed it, seeing their reflection in the mirror. They made an erotic picture, with her naked back and his mostly naked front. Her fingers wrapped around him beneath the cotton.

She sank to her knees, offering him another view. His cock sprang free as she pushed his shorts down. He wasn’t just hard; he was passion-flushed, painfully erect. She curled her hand around him and brought the tip to her lips, licking delicately.

He groaned, cupping the nape of her neck. She watched him watch her in the mirror. It was incredibly hot. She took him into her mouth, her eyes half-lidded.

This couldn’t last. He was too aroused, and she was right there with him. She closed her eyes and sucked him deep, letting him guide her head up and down. Her nipples felt tight, her sex swollen. Making a humming sound at the base of her throat, she clenched her thighs together to assuage the ache.

“Wait,” he rasped, stilling her movements.

She wanted him to come, but he eased out of her mouth, removing himself from temptation. She stared up at him, her pulse pounding. He pulled her to her feet and brushed his thumb over her tingling lips. His erection jutted against her belly, thick and hard. A few strokes would probably get him off.

He kissed her desperately, plundering her mouth with his tongue. To finish this, he needed only to lift her up against the dresser and enter her. But instead of rushing things, he continued kissing her, tasting her parted lips.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t move, he took her by the shoulders, spinning her to face the drawers. She shivered with pleasure as he pushed aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck. God yes. He remembered what she liked.

Keeping his mouth locked on the nape of her neck, he cupped her breasts, kneading the soft flesh. She moaned for more, arching her back. He toyed with her nipples, pinching the distended tips. His hand skimmed down her belly to cover her mound. She gasped as his calloused fingertips found her, hot and wet.

He bit her neck gently, growling an order to spread her legs. She widened her stance, breathless with anticipation. He traced her slippery cleft and dipped a finger inside.

“Fuck,” he groaned, removing his hand.

“Please.”

He took a condom out of the drawer and put it on. Pressing against the small of her back, he urged her to lean forward. She braced her hands on the surface of the dresser, her heart pounding. He positioned himself against her. Hissing out a breath, he slid the blunt head of his penis into her slick opening.

Hope tried to take more of him, but he wouldn’t let her. Trapping her against the drawers, he teased her with shallow strokes, barely penetrating her. She couldn’t move, but she could see their reflection in the mirror. She watched, moaning with frustration, as his thick cock inched back and forth.

“Please,” she repeated, begging for completion.

“Please what?”

“Come...inside me.”

He gripped her hips, moving her body from the dresser to the floor in front of the mirror. He sank to his knees behind her and buried himself in her with one smooth thrust. She reveled in the sensation, gripping the soft woven rug beneath her fingertips. When he remained motionless, as if fighting for control, she straightened until her shoulders touched his well-muscled chest.

His eyes met hers in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her nipples tight. Her sex stretched around him in a tight fit. He reached down to where their bodies were joined, strumming her clitoris in slow circles.

“Oh God,” she panted, gripping his wrist.

“Like that?”

“Just like that.”

He licked his fingertips and did it again, driving her crazy. She slid along his length, arching her spine and straining toward orgasm. When he bit down on her shoulder, she cried out his name, exploding in ecstasy.

Sam didn’t wait for her to recover. Urging her onto her hands and knees, he surged forward, driving all the way to the hilt. She shuddered in delight, her inner muscles clenching around him. He drove into her again and again, thrusting as deep as he could get, penetrating the core of her being.

When she climaxed a second time, he followed her with a hoarse yell, his hips jerking violently. He stayed buried inside her for several moments, his heartbeat thundering against her back, his breath hot against her neck. Then he rose to discard the condom. He carried her to bed, wrapping his arms around her.

She drifted in and out of dreams, some about falling.

“Don’t let go,” she murmured.

“Never,” he said, kissing the nape of her neck.