Authors: Sandra Brown
Definitely cuffing this smart-ass.
I reached inside my purse, hooking a finger around the metal chain and eased my body back slightly so I could cuff him quickly. But both my knees slipped and I lost my balance. Immediately the kid bucked, knocking me on my ass before he raced off.
Sonuvabitch.
My gun was in my hand before I leaped to my feet to give chase. The lack of light screwed with my depth perception. It’d be just my luck to catch the toe of my boot in a gopher hole and end up sprawled in the dirt with my dress bunched around my hips and my ass hanging out. But I didn’t slow down. I yelled, “Stop! FBI. I’m armed. I will shoot you if you don’t stop.”
He kept running until he tripped. His body slid across the gravel parking lot as if he was diving for home plate from third base.
After he skidded to a stop, I loomed over him, putting my gun in his direct line of sight. “Hands where I can see them. Now!”
Once again he was howling, gaping with horror at his palms. I let my gaze drop for a second and my stomach turned over. Holy shit. His hands were hamburger. A crisscross of scrapes that’d already begun to bleed. The dirt and gravel imbedded beneath his skin looked like Rice Krispies about to pop out of his flesh.
“Help me. Oh, God, I’m bleeding!” He rolled to his knees.
“Don’t fucking move or I will shoot you.”
He looked at me.
“Repeat it back to me so there’s no confusion.” When he hesitated, I barked, “Now!”
“Don’tfuckingmoveoryouwillshootme.”
The side of his face had fared worse than his hands. His cheek had deep gouges, like he’d taken a header across broken glass.
I heard murmurs behind me. Evidently this incident had already drawn a crowd. Too soon for the tribal cops to be here, so I had a pretty good idea of who was closing in on me.
“Never a dull moment with you, is there, Sergeant Major?” he drawled.
I stepped aside so I could look at Dawson and keep an eye on shit-for-brains moaning on the ground. “Chasing down a pickpocket was not part of my evening plans, Sheriff. Besides. You’re late.”
“Sorry. Deputy Moore dropped me off as soon as we were done. I assume you called this in?”
“Yes. Tribal police are en route.”
Dawson crossed his arms over his chest, holding court on the guy’s other side. “I’ll stick around until they get here, if you don’t mind.”
I appreciated he didn’t assume I needed help, but asked. “That’d be great since I need to request an ambulance.” I called 911 again.
A portly man barreled up, the security guard on his heels. “What is going on here?”
“I’m stopping bad guys. Who are you?”
“Welchell Whitetail. I’m the manager. Who are you?”
“Mercy Gunderson, FBI.”
Whitetail glared at Dawson. Although Dawson wasn’t in uniform, he didn’t have to be. Everything about him broadcast
law enforcement
. “And who are you?”
“Eagle River County Sheriff.”
“Neither of you has jurisdiction here. So I’d like to know why you’re holding one of my customers at gunpoint.”
“This customer was picking pockets. When he exited the premises with the stolen goods, I followed him. He jumped me with a knife. I take offense to getting jumped with a knife.”
“Do you have proof of his alleged crimes?”
“The knife is on the ground by the Dumpster. Check his pockets. He has five wallets that don’t belong to him.”
Whitetail puffed up like a prairie grouse. “We could’ve avoided this if you’d contacted my security team after you witnessed the first incident.”
“Your security
team
consists of one guard who was far too busy poking buttons on her cell phone to do her job. So I did mine.”
“You have no jurisdiction here,” Whitetail snapped again. “Let him go and we will handle it in house.”
“Sorry. The tribal police are on their way and I will gladly hand this problem over to them. This might not be my jurisdiction, but it is theirs.”
Whitetail fumed. His face turned a mottled purple. He seemed too infuriated to speak, which seemed an over-the-top reaction and set off my warning bells. “You had no need to call them. No right. I don’t need the tribal cops in my business.”
“Well, Mr. Whitetail, that’s where you’re wrong. This isn’t solely your business—it’s the tribe’s business. The casino and the police are both under the tribe’s purview, but it’s your job to watch out for guys like this and report them to the tribal cops, so they can do their job and make an arrest.”
Skinny dude yelled, “I’m not goin’ to jail, especially not on the goddamned rez!”
“You got caught red-handed,” I pointed out.
“You promised you’d handle stuff like this,” skinny dude said to Whitetail.
Confused, my gaze winged between them. “What stuff does he handle?”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Whitetail retorted.
“Bullshit! That’s why you get a bigger cut.”
Whitetail gave me a greasy smile. “Honestly, I’m relieved to have the tribal police deal with him. We don’t need anyone to believe we’re ignoring the seriousness of this crime.”
“Crime?” skinny dude repeated. “It was your plan.”
So my inside job theory had been partially right. Good to know paying attention in FBI school rather than doodling in my notebook had paid off. I faced Whitetail. “Ripping off your customers was your idea?”
“You believe him?” Whitetail sneered. “It’s obvious he’ll say anything to get out of jail time.”
Skinny dude fired off, “Last year he told me how easy it’d be to rip off senior groups and foreign tourists. When a tour bus pulls in, I’m the first one he calls. Check my phone records.
He
called
me
tonight. I’m telling the truth! He’s lying.” He pointed at the security guard. “She knows. She’s paid to look the other way.”
Greedy damn people. Preying on the elderly. My gaze caught Dawson’s. “Have you heard grumbling from locals about missing money or wallets after they visited here?”
Dawson shrugged. “First I’ve heard of it.”
“Me, too,” came from behind me. A craggy-faced Indian wearing the tribal police uniform stepped forward. I recognized him from a case we’d worked last week. Officer Spotted Bear’s gaze whipped between the security guard, the manager and his thief for hire. “Guess we’ll have to take all three of you in to figure out what’s what, eh?”
Whitetail threw his hands in the air. “I have a casino to run! I can’t just leave.”
“That ain’t a request,” the other cop, Officer Begly, responded.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna be around when the tribal president gets here anyway.”
The young man who took my coat stepped forward and held up his phone. “I taped everything and sent it to my uncle, who just happens to be the tribal president.” He grinned at the cops. “He’s speeding here so I hope he don’t get arrested, hey.”
I wasn’t surprised by the tribal president’s immediate attention to this situation. The casino employed lots of people on the reservation. In recent months scandal had broken out at two other Indian casinos in South Dakota, resulting in loss of jobs and revenue because of managerial mismanagement, so keeping this place open was key.
Whitetail shouted obscenities and lunged at the kid. Talk about satisfying—shoving Whitetail’s smug face in the dirt while Officer Spotted Bear cuffed him.
An ambulance arrived along with a whole crush of people. Dawson and I got separated. By the time he tracked me down my adrenaline rush had faded. I shivered in the chilly air as I answered Officer Begly’s questions and the EMTs patched up the pickpocket.
“Thanks for your help on this, Gunderson.”
“No problem. Make sure those bus tour people get their wallets back.”
“Will do.” He gave me a critical once-over. “No offense, but you look like hell. Go home.”
“Oh, and—”
“And…we’re leaving.” Dawson’s big palm was warm against my lower back as he herded me away. “Do I need to have the EMTs look at you?”
I scowled. “Not unless you think they’ll sew up the rip in my dress.”
“Speaking of dresses…with the way you had your knee on the punk’s wrist and the other knee by his shoulder, he had the perfect opportunity to look up your skirt.”
“Which is why I never wear dresses,” I shot back.
“More’s the pity, Sergeant Major.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “You saw him knock me on my ass?”
“Uh-huh. But you showed off them super FBI agent recovery skills, so I didn’t get a chance to tackle him and grind him into dust. Pity about that, too.”
That explained his lousy mood. Dawson wasn’t happy about seeing me in danger and being too late to help me out. I tried to make light of it. “The real pity is I lost my appetite.”
“So we’re just gonna go home?”
I hated he sounded so disappointed. Again. “Yeah.” After I climbed in the passenger side of my truck and ditched my gun, I remembered my coat. I hopped out and dug in my purse for the claim ticket.
“Whoa. Where you going?”
“I left my coat. I’ll be right back.”
Dawson snatched the ticket, snarling, “Would it be too much goddamn trouble to let me do one thing for you tonight after you’ve been beat to shit?”
I shivered violently, from the cold, the adrenaline crash and his harsh tone.
“Get in the truck and stay there.”
I didn’t argue.
When Dawson returned, he draped my coat over me. We didn’t talk on the drive home, which wasn’t necessarily odd, but the mood was definitely altered and not the slightest bit romantic.
And whose fault is that?
Mine. Again.
As soon as Dawson parked at the ranch, my boots hit the dirt and I hustled up the porch steps wanting to put this disastrous night behind me.
But Dawson spun me around and crowded me against the wall. He cradled my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “What’s wrong now?”
I inhaled and let out a long, slow breath. “I can’t even have a simple date with you without somehow royally screwing it up. Now you’re pissed off, hungry—”
“Mercy—”
“Look at me. I’ve got mud on my dress, dirt on my knees and grass in my hair. I’m a mess. I wanted…I tried to be… Just forget it.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I am looking at you. Christ, woman, I can’t look away from you.” Dawson covered my mouth with his. Not in a sweet kiss, but a frustrated one. “Yes, you looked sexy tonight in this hot little black number, but I gotta admit, the sexiest part of you isn’t ever what you wear, Mercy, it’s sexy seeing you in action.”
“You were mad at me because I jumped into the action.”
“No, I don’t expect less than that from you.” He rested his forehead on mine. “You are ten kinds of kick ass and you don’t need me. Sometimes I wish I could sweep in and rescue you. Even if it’s just saving you from getting a rip in your dress.”
“I do need you, Dawson. Just not to come in, guns blazing, to save me.” I pressed my lips to his. “I need you in ways that scare me.” I kissed him again. “And I want you so much it makes me crazy to think about it.”
“So don’t think. In fact, forget about everything but this.”
Any protest died as Dawson kissed me. Languidly. Assuredly. Touched me in that leisurely manner that warned me he’d keep this slow and easy until slow and easy wasn’t enough for either of us.
My baser instincts were screaming for more when his big hands slid my dress up past my hips. Then his hands moved down so his rough-skinned thumbs stroked the skin between my navel and the top of my thong.
He kissed a path down my throat and roughly yanked the top of my dress aside. His wet mouth closed over my right nipple and he bit down softly as the blunt tips of his fingers teased the underside of my breasts.
A noise burst from my mouth, half sigh, half hiss. I untangled my hands from his hair, running them down his broad chest to his belly until I reached his belt buckle. I tugged.
Cheap-ass thing popped loose on the first try.
He inhaled a swift breath when I lowered the zipper and freed him, tracing the hard length from tip to root.
Our eyes met. Words were unnecessary. Unwanted.
Dawson eased back only far enough to drop his Wranglers. Then he hoisted me against the side of the house and held me there. Bending his knees, he thrust inside me, hard and high.
This was what I needed. This man knew exactly how to make my world tilt and at the same time set it right again.
Staring into my eyes, he slowly pumped his hips. “More?”
“God yes.”
Dawson angled his head and put his lips on mine, eating at my mouth, destroying me with his voracious kisses. Slamming into my body with finesse that always shocked me. Stroking inside me with precision that robbed me of air and reason.
The tight coiling sensation built. Sweat trickled down my back. In the haze of passion I heard the rhythmic clank of his belt buckle hitting the siding. The harsh mix of our breathing. Holding myself rigid, I pulled away, craving that elusive pulsing rush. When he buried his lips in the curve where my neck met my shoulder, it was over. I unraveled.
When I returned to earth, Dawson watched my face with a hunger that made my belly swoop. He pressed my knees wide and took what he needed. Hard. Fast. Urgently. Then he exploded with a shout, and damn if that didn’t send me soaring right over the edge with him again.
Luckily I had something solid holding me up, because I became completely boneless. Mindless. Sated in a way that went beyond hot sex. Then Dawson sweetened the finish, sending new chills across my skin with his every whispered word, with each labored breath against my damp skin, with each soft kiss.
When I felt him smile against my neck, I murmured, “What?”
“I’m thinking for the piss-poor way it started, this was the best date ever.”
Relieved, I laughed. “And I haven’t even broken out the handcuffs yet.”
* * * * *
VACATION INTERRUPTED
A Lucy Kincaid/Sean Rogan Story
Allison Brennan
Kincaid and Rogan are plunged—literally—into another adventure. Two pairs of lovers, plus one psycho, equals a less-than-ideal getaway. ~SB
“No dead bodies, no psychopaths, no one trying to kill us.” Sean Rogan leaned back on the blanket spread out on the semisecluded beach. “Just you and me, princess.” He took her hand and closed his eyes.
In five days, Lucy was to report at Quantico to start her twenty-week FBI training. She’d suggested a few weeks ago that she and Sean find a couple days to go away—alone. They’d tried twice since they first started seeing each other six months ago, but each time their vacation plans were ruined by criminal activity. Because they were both so busy—Lucy working at the regional FBI office and Sean at his security company, RCK East—Lucy didn’t think they’d have the opportunity.
On Tuesday morning, Sean announced he’d finished his assignment early and asked if she wanted to go to the beach. When Lucy said yes, she hadn’t expected to leave an hour later in Sean’s plane, landing before noon at a small executive airport on Cape Cod in Massachusetts.
Though early August was the height of the tourist season, Sean finagled a wonderful room at a bed-and-breakfast with a view of the bay. Lucy didn’t want to ask how—her boyfriend relied heavily on his charm to get him in and out of tricky situations. If that failed, he used his brains or brawn.
Lucy rarely relaxed, and didn’t particularly enjoy sunbathing—ironic considering she had earned many blue ribbons and trophies swimming in high school and for Georgetown University—but she found herself half-asleep under the large umbrella Sean had pitched, the soothing lap of waves rolling up the shore leeching the tension from her muscles.
A scream shattered her peaceful afternoon. Lucy sat up quickly; Sean was already on his feet scanning the horizon. It had come from a young woman standing on the shoreline. “Someone help him!”
The blonde was looking out into the ocean, pointing to a man flailing in the waves about a hundred and fifty yards out. Sean was already running and Lucy followed, searching for a lifeguard tower. The only one she spotted was so far away she couldn’t see the person manning the booth.
Lucy had spent her high school summers working as a lifeguard in San Diego, and while she didn’t have a tube or float, she spotted a boogie board near the shoreline. She didn’t know or care who it belonged to, but strapped the board’s leash around her ankle and ran into the ocean. The salt water was cold and itchy against her warm, dry skin. “Sean—get the lifeguard!” she ordered.
She pictured where she last saw the man, then swam toward that spot with long, confident strides. The shore was shallow, but fifty yards out it dropped steeply and the water turned choppy.
Every few seconds Lucy stopped briefly to ensure she was still headed toward the troubled swimmer. Her hundred-yard record in competition was 48:10, but she was fighting the current and waves, and it took three times that long.
When she thought she was close to the man, she stopped and treaded water. She didn’t see anyone. Had she passed him? The waves were high enough to thwart her view, so she rode them up and down, looking 360 degrees.
Something brushed by her ankle. She dived, fearing the victim was underwater and unconscious, but didn’t find anything. She surfaced, dived again, deeper, and swimming a wider perimeter.
Lucy breached the surface, fearing she was too late. As she began to lose hope, she spotted the man only a few feet away, his face twisted with pain and fear as he slipped under again.
She dived at an angle, kicking with all her strength, making a straight line to where she predicted he’d be if sinking. Her hands made contact with flesh, and she grabbed what she could—his biceps, it turned out—and kicked toward the surface, pulling the added weight with her.
She gasped for air when she broke through the surface. She immediately turned the man to his back because it was easier to help him float if he was lying as flat as possible. He wasn’t unconscious, but definitely in distress and noticeably exhausted. He coughed and pushed at her, his eyes unfocused.
“I’m here to help,” she said.
“Get away!”
He pushed her down, but Lucy saw it coming. She dunked below the surface so he couldn’t hold her down, and then popped up a couple feet away.
Disoriented, he must be on drugs. He tried to swim, but a wave hit him in the face, almost pushing him under. She grabbed him. “I’m a lifeguard. Calm down!”
Lucy put the boogie board under his body to help him stay afloat. “Remain calm,” she repeated. She glanced toward the shore and saw the lifeguard swimming swiftly toward her. “Help’s coming.”
“Someone,” he gasped. “Someone here.” He coughed up water.
“Calm down or you’ll hyperventilate. Slow, deep breaths.”
“Kill,” he breathed heavily. “Me.”
Someone tried to kill him? She scanned the area, but being this far out diminished visibility. The only other swimmers were much closer to the shore, where it was only a few feet deep.
The lifeguard approached on a rescue board. He rolled off, barely glanced at Lucy, his attention focused on the near-drowning victim. “What’s your name?” he asked the victim.
“Ted.”
“I’m Andrew. I’ll get you back to shore.” He glanced at Lucy. “You okay?”
“I’m good.” She rested a minute while Andrew secured Ted to the rescue board. When he was ready, the lifeguard pulled the board with Ted and she followed at a steady pace.
Was Ted delirious or had someone really tried to kill him?
By the time she got back to the shore, Andrew was assessing Ted’s injuries. An EMT unit was coming down the beach.
“Thank you, thank you,” the blonde repeated. “What happened?”
The lifeguard said, “Caught in a riptide is my guess.” Lucy didn’t think so, but before she could question Ted or the lifeguard, the EMT arrived.
Sean pulled Lucy to him and hugged her tightly. His body felt hot against her cold skin. She held on, shaking from the adrenaline spike and cold water, grateful for someone to lean on.
He looked down at her, his dark blue eyes full of both worry and pride. He pushed her long, dark hair out of her face. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?” He kissed her repeatedly. “Let’s get you in a hot shower.”
“I need it.”
He smiled at her, his dimple practically winking. “Me, too.”
* * *
While Sean and Lucy napped after sharing a long shower, the phone rang. Wendy Potter, Ted’s fiancée, insisted on taking them to drinks as a thank-you. “Why’d you give her our number?” Sean moaned. Sean tried to talk Lucy out of agreeing, but Lucy hadn’t been able to get Ted’s odd comment out of her mind.
Three hours later, just after sunset, they walked into a popular club. “One hour, tops,” Lucy assured Sean as they spotted the other couple.
“I’m holding you to that.” Sean glanced at his watch.
Lucy smiled as they sat down. “You look much better than you did earlier,” she said to Ted. He was of average height and build, with a warm manner and attractive smile, even though he appeared both tired and apprehensive. Lucy’s mother would classify Wendy as “cute as a button”—blond-haired, blue-eyed and petite. She, too, looked worried.
“We don’t know how to thank you,” Wendy said.
“I’m just glad I could help.”
“What happened out there?” Sean asked. “The lifeguard said you were caught in a riptide?”
Ted shook his head. “No, and the risk of riptides was low today. I checked before I went out.”
“You were out pretty far,” Lucy said.
He looked sheepish. “I wasn’t paying attention, I’ll admit. Then I began to feel light-headed and my heart was racing. I felt high, but I haven’t done drugs since college. Then—” he glanced at Wendy.
She said, “It’s not like she wouldn’t do it!”
Lucy’s interest was piqued. “Excuse me?”
“His ex-girlfriend.”
Ted took a long drink from his beer. “I broke up with Patty a year ago, and she’s made my life a living hell since then.”
“You think she drugged you?”
“I think she tried to kill me. I felt something grab my legs. I kicked and thrashed, and it still pulled me down. I know it sounds ludicrous, but she’s a diver.”
“Did you tell the police?” Lucy asked. They remained silent. “You need to file a report and get a restraining order.”
Wendy laughed humorlessly. Ted said, “I can’t go to the police. Patty is a cop. The first time she harassed me, it was right after I moved out. She trashed my new apartment. I filed a report, but there was no proof she did it. Then two of her cop friends beat me up when I was walking to my car after work. She then started following me, accidentally bumping into me at a restaurant, or the movies, things like that.”
Wendy said, “Six months ago I transferred to Boston for a job and met Ted. On our third date, Patty showed up at the restaurant and made a scene. The manager called the police, and when they arrived, they arrested Ted! If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed it. He didn’t
do
anything except try to calm her down.”
“A week later,” Ted said, “I was arrested for assault. Patty said I’d gone to her house and when she told me to leave I hit her. I was never there!”
“You have other options,” Lucy said. “Reporting her to internal affairs, for example. Or to the FBI if you’re concerned about police corruption.”
“I didn’t know I could go to the FBI. I guess that’s next.” He sighed, defeated. “I just want my life back. I proposed to Wendy on Saturday, and we were enjoying our vacation until today. How did she find us? We even lied to our friends and families, told them we were going to Maine because we didn’t want them accidentally telling her where we were.”
Lucy had been skeptical when they started their story, but they both had the right body language and verbal responses. Still, while police corruption existed, could a cop get her buddies to participate in such harassment? “Why would her friends help her?”
“She’s a liar,” Wendy said. “She told me once that Ted left her because she was pregnant, then had a miscarriage. Then she changed her story and said Ted made her have an abortion.
Then
she said she had her tubes tied because Ted didn’t want any kids.”
“None of that was true,” Ted said. “She even called my mother and told her we were engaged! The only reason the assault charges were dropped was because I had a good lawyer, but then
Patty
got a restraining order against
me!
”
Sean spoke up for the first time. “Can I see your cell phone?” Ted handed it over. While inspecting the device, Sean asked, “Have you posted any pictures of your trip on the internet? On Facebook? Emailed anyone?”
Wendy shook her head. “No. We didn’t want them to know—God, I hate that she’s turned us into liars, too!”
“I know how she found you,” Sean said. He powered down the phone and took out the battery. “Don’t use your phone until you contact your provider and tell them to wipe your backup files, then have the software reinstalled. You’ll lose everything on the phone, but it’ll also wipe her GPS tracking program.”
“She had us bugged?” Wendy asked, incredulous.
“Close. She knew exactly where the phone was at all times.”
“I’ll get another phone,” Ted said.
Sean shook his head. “Won’t do any good. The program is integrated and unless you get a completely new phone number and account, it will be downloaded from your backup files.”
“We have friends in law enforcement who might be able to help,” Lucy said.
“It’s too late,” Ted said. “Wendy and I have been talking about leaving Boston and moving to California. My sister lives there and said we can stay with her until we find jobs.”
“And you don’t think she knows where your sister lives?” Lucy said. “Your ex-girlfriend is obsessed. If she tried to kill you today, moving cross-country isn’t going to stop her. If you file charges—” She stopped. “Did you get a drug test this afternoon?” When they shook their heads, she added, “Depending on the drug, it may still be in your system. Go to the hospital first thing in the morning. Or now.” Though, even if the test was positive, there would be no proof that his ex-girlfriend had been the person who’d drugged him.
Wendy said, “I thought I saw her yesterday, but dismissed it—I wasn’t certain because her hair was much darker and she wore big sunglasses.”
“Even if we could prove she was here, that’s still not going to help.” Sean picked up Ted’s phone again. “I have an idea.”
Lucy didn’t like the plan even before hearing Sean’s plan. “I already don’t like it.”
He grinned as he popped the battery back in the phone. “What do you mean? I haven’t even told you.”
“I know you, Sean Rogan.”
He leaned over and kissed her, then said softly, “You know and I know that Ted’s psychotic ex-girlfriend will get caught eventually, but probably not until after they’re dead.”
Wendy gasped.
“Tactful,” Lucy muttered.
Sean turned to the newly engaged couple. “So this is the plan. We’re taking your phone and your room. Where are you staying?”
“We have a cottage on the beach,” Wendy said. “But I don’t understand.”
“I also need her full name and address if you have it.”
“Why would you help us?”
“It’s what I do.” Sean slid over his business card. “I’m in the security business. It’s clear to me that your stalker has escalated. She’s going to kill you unless we stop her. And it’s also clear that going through the proper channels at this point will take too long. So what do you say?”
Lucy wanted them to decline, but wasn’t surprised when they both nodded their heads. “What do you want us to do?” Ted asked.
Sean explained how they would trade phones and rooms, then wait.
“Do you really think she’ll try to kill Ted again?”
“If she’s still in town? I guarantee it.”
* * *
For well over an hour, Sean and Lucy sat in Ted and Wendy’s small cottage, digging up everything they could on the parties involved. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Ted and Wendy, but their story did stretch credibility. A cursory background check showed them to be exactly who they said they were.