Operation Power Play (14 page)

Chapter 24

“J
ust trust me, please?” Sloan asked as her group gathered around her, puzzled by her seemingly meek capitulation. “It’s all part of a bigger plan. And thank you so much for coming out. Coffee at The Mug is on me.”

“Heads up,” Brett said softly, low enough the others couldn’t hear. “Perkins is headed this way.”

She nodded as the small group began to scatter. They did trust her, so they were going, but they looked a bit doubtful. She hoped she could explain one day. She felt Brett’s hand on her arm just above the elbow.

“If you don’t want to talk here,” he said in a tone that was not only louder but decidedly ominous, “then we can go to the county lockup and chat there.”

His shift was so sudden, so smooth, that it took her aback for a moment. On some level she realized her expression was probably exactly what he’d hoped for, as Mead’s pale, twitchy assistant reached them.

“You going to arrest her?” He sounded satisfied at the idea. “About time.”

“She’s going to come along quietly, isn’t she?” Brett’s tone was smooth, condescending. She resisted the urge to snap something back at him, knowing he was only playing a part.

“Do you have any idea how much I hate being referred to in the third person?”

“As much as anyone, I’d guess,” he said in that same tone, as if he were calming an upset child. He was so good at this, at being an entirely different kind of person, it was a little unnerving. “So don’t make me use it.”

“Make you!” She couldn’t help it—her voice rose. “The problem is yours, mister, not mine.” She made a show of trying to pull free. Brett pulled her back, but she noticed his fingers didn’t dig in, merely wrapped around her arm and tugged. Caused no pain but looked as if he were jerking her around.

“Hush.” He looked at Perkins. “Call your boss. Tell him it’s all clear and that I’ll talk to him later.”

“Right away.” A smirk crossed that pale face, as if the man was certain now what he was dealing with. He thought Brett was one of them, Sloan realized. Thought he would sell out his principles for whatever Mead could do for him. She was a little surprised at how certain she was that he would never even think about such a thing. Just as she’d been about Jason.

She muttered something under her breath for effect. It worked. Perkins smirked at her this time.

“My car this time,” Brett said as they walked away. “It needs to look official. We’ll get your car later.”

“It’s okay. I rode down with one of the others.”

And so again she found herself sitting in that car with the shotgun above the windshield. It made her a little edgy until, when he pulled away from the waterfront, a tennis ball rolled out from under the seat. That made her smile, and she reached down to pick it up.

“How is he?” She glanced at the clock on the dash.

“No doubt waiting by the door for me to get home and put my shoulder out of whack throwing that ball for him.”

His tone was wry, but she saw something in his face, a slight curve of one corner of his mouth, that made her say quietly, “Not so bad, having someone waiting for you.”

“Different,” he said.

That stirred up feelings she thought she’d managed to tamp down. And again words she hadn’t planned on saying slipped out. “Do you like it?”

He flicked her a sideways glance. “Not used to it.”

“Why?”

The glance was longer this time, as if she’d startled him. “Pretty personal question.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I have lots of them, it seems.”

“Why?” he asked in turn.

“Because you tangle me up,” she said in a tone that matched his earlier one for wryness.

“Sloan...”

“You should tend to Cutter.”

“Yes. I’ll take you home first.”

“Don’t. I’d like to see the rascal again.”

There was a long moment of silence before he said, his voice low, “Are you asking to come home with me?”

She drew in a deep breath as she considered all the possible aspects of that question. She glanced at him, saw in the tightness of his jaw and the way he was staring at the road ahead as if it were a freeway in downtown LA that he’d meant just what she thought he had. A memory of that kiss suddenly rose up and nearly swamped her with heat and need. She hadn’t felt like this in a very long time. Not since Jason.

I will have died for nothing if you live alone and unhappy.

She supposed it was strange to have her husband’s words urging her toward another man. She doubted Brett would appreciate that she was thinking of him now. But she knew Jason had meant it, just as fiercely as he had loved her.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I believe I am.”

The silence was longer this time. She sensed his tension, wondered what he was thinking.

“Brett—”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His voice was harsh, tight. He wanted no misunderstanding, she thought. And who would know better how people misunderstood, and turned their lives into chaos, than a cop?

“Is your next question ‘Are you sure?’”

“It should be. Because if the answer to that is no, then the answer to everything is no.”

It was like another check mark on a list she hadn’t even known she was keeping. He meant it. If she wasn’t certain, then as far as he was concerned, the answer was no. No coaxing, no trying to get past her doubts with smooth talk.

“If I wasn’t sure, you could fix that, you know.”

He blinked. “I could?”

“Kiss me again. If it’s anything like before...”

Her voice trailed off. She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

“Damn. It’s all I’ve thought about since.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “This would be really embarrassing if it was just me.”

“You’ve got about twenty minutes to change your mind.”

She wondered if he’d meant to sound so grim, but she didn’t ask. But she was curious. “Twenty?” They were at least a half an hour from his place.

“Last drugstore,” he said.

It took her a moment, but when she understood what he meant, she decided silence was her best course. She’d said more than enough. But she couldn’t help feeling a warmth inside her at this proof that he didn’t make a habit of this, and that he hadn’t gone out and stocked up on protection just on the chance.

He was as unprepared as she was. She’d made a decision she’d had no intention of making, not now, not ever. But somehow this man had changed all that. She was still alive, and for the first time she truly understood what Jason had said, that if she lived only in memories, if she stayed withdrawn from the part of life that had given her so much joy, then he’d died for nothing. Because it was that life he’d fought for. Died for. Not just for her but for everyone.

And in his way, Brett fought that same battle on a smaller front.

She felt a twinge, a reminder that she’d sworn never to get involved with another protector, another warrior who risked his life for others. But what was she to do when that was the only kind of man who stirred her?

So have sex with him, enjoy it and keep your heart out of it.

She nearly laughed as the words went through her mind. That would be the way some women she knew would approach it and would be the advice they would give her. And had, a couple of times. But she knew herself, knew deep down that she wasn’t made that way. She was incapable of keeping her heart out of it. She could guard it, protect it, limit its involvement, but letting a man into her body without giving him at least some tiny part of her heart? Not in her.

Maybe that was the answer to why this was the only kind of man who tempted her. The kind of man who would never abuse that gift, even if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give it in return.

She sat silently as he drove, pondering the oddity of learning something new about herself at a time when she would have thought she knew herself pretty well.

“Sloan?”

She snapped out of her reverie. Realized where they were. That last drugstore. “Haven’t changed my mind,” she said softly.

They had to break the momentum to give Cutter a necessary couple of minutes, but the dog was back so fast she had no time for second thoughts. But once inside, it was clearly Brett who was in a hurry. And from the moment he shut the door, grabbed her and kissed her, so was she. All the reasons she was here came flooding back on the tide of heat and want he roused in her. His mouth was hot, demanding, and when he pulled back for an instant, she heard a tiny sound of protest that she nearly didn’t realize had come from her.

“You’re su—”

“Yes.” She cut him off before he got the word out. And then he took her breath away all over again by sweeping her up in his arms. At five-six she was not a small woman, but he did it easily.

It was more of the alcove she’d guessed at than a bedroom, and most of it was taken up by a closet and the large bed. He’d chosen sleeping space over walking space, and given his height, she understood. There was a book on a carved wooden chair that apparently served as both seat and nightstand, since there was no room for anything else. A pole lamp like the one in the main room arched over that side of the bed, telling her he read there. On the single free wall was a framed photograph of Mount Rainier at sunrise, the brilliant orange-and-pink sky made even more striking by the dramatic slash of dark shadow the mountain itself cast across the brightening sky. She wondered if he’d taken it and what it said about him if he had.

Beyond that, the room was utilitarian, tidy. No distractions from its intended purpose.

At least, its intended purpose until now. When he set her down next to the bed, she felt oddly as if she’d forgotten how to stand. He reached out to cup her face.

“I was going to apologize for the plainness of the room,” he said softly. “But it’s not plain at all anymore.”

She felt the heat in her cheeks that he seemed to cause in her so easily. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“There’s never been one here.”

That made her breath stop in her throat. This time she kissed him.

That quickly, she was frantic. She wasn’t sure what she’d imagined the few times she’d dared to let her imagination go this far. But it wasn’t the mad, heedless rush she was caught up in now. Now that it was here, she wanted no slow, gentle seduction, no slow build, no long slow caresses. Because in truth this had been building since the first day this man had stepped into her life. She’d waited so long to feel again that now that she was on fire with it, she didn’t want to wait any longer. Couldn’t wait. She wanted this man’s skin against hers; she wanted her arms around him, wanted to be completely tangled up in him in a way she’d never been before.

The fumbling with clothes wasn’t awkward; it only proved he’d been honest about how long it had been. And that heightened the need until she almost moaned aloud even before he pulled her, naked, into his arms. The thought flashed through her rapidly fogging mind that this could be life changing, and all her self-warnings about keeping her heart out of it were nothing more than the faint, distant foghorns she sometimes heard rolling up from the sound.

They went down to the bed together. Hands collided as they touched, stroked; heads bumped as they both tried to kiss every uncovered inch. Yet it wasn’t awkward, at least not to her. She was far beyond feeling awkward. She was feeling consumed by the need that kept growing, surging inside her.

She traced the muscles of his back, marveling at the power there. His hands reached her breasts, cupped them. Helplessly she arched upward. His mouth followed, first teasing, then drawing her nipples into searing wet heat, and she nearly cried out as need cramped her.

Then something changed. She realized Brett seemed to be trying to slow down, and she shook her head. “No,” she gasped. “Hurry.”

“I’m getting a little crazy here,” he warned, his voice thick.

“Good. Oh, good,” she gasped out, trying to urge him on with her hands.

“Slow next time,” he muttered.

Yes, next time. She liked the sound of that.

He was on top of her, a solid, strong weight that made her body ripple in anticipation. She reached to guide him, the hot, silken feel of him sending another ripple of heat through her. He groaned at her touch, as if he’d felt the same thing, and the harsh sound urged her on.

And then he was sliding into her, and she cried out. It was difficult at first; her body was unused to this. He hesitated, but she clutched at his back, then slid her hands down to the taut backside she’d so admired when he was running and pulled him forward. He made that sound again, and this time it escalated to a sharp groan of her name as he slid into her, filling the empty place she’d carried for so long. Her cry of his name blended with his voice, joining them in that way, too.

He was moving inside her, stroking with an urgency that answered her own. All thought of easing into it this first time was burned away as the heat built, flared. With every slam of his body into hers her mind screamed, “Yes, yes, yes,” until it was no longer just her mind and the cries echoed in the small room.

He drove home one more time, and she felt it begin. She clutched at him, desperate to hang on. She was alive, so alive, and in this moment she let go all reservations, letting herself take the joy so long denied.

And then her body launched, exploding into a pulsing, searing flight that made her cry out his name again. And again it blended with his guttural shout of her name in turn, and she knew on some deep, long-buried level that
life changing
was definitely the term for this.

Chapter 25

H
e woke up alone and for a moment thought last night had been a vivid, searingly erotic dream. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first one he’d had since a certain headstrong dog had led him up the proverbial garden path.

He blinked and raised himself up on one elbow. There was just enough light in the room to see the tangled bedcovers. And he didn’t need the light to catch the lingering scent of her, that sweet aroma that reminded him of the purple flowers his mother used to grow on a windowsill.

That she’d managed to get up without waking him was surprising. Then again, maybe not. After last night, perhaps he should be surprised he woke up at all. Despite how many times he’d turned to her, or more gut slamming, she to him, in between he’d slept better than he had in years.

The air was a bit chilly, since he’d forgotten to set the old baseboard heater last night. He’d forgotten everything last night except the woman in his arms and, eventually, in his bed. Small wonder. He’d felt things last night that were incredible, more incredible than believing he’d lived better than forty years before finding out they were possible.

He listened for a moment, thinking he might hear the shower running. And regretting that the stall was far too small to share. He barely fit in it by himself. The gouge on the forehead he’d garnered the first week he’d lived here had taken a long time to heal and it had been a bit embarrassing to admit he’d been whacked by his own showerhead.

The cabin was silent.

No sounds even from the kitchen, so the coffeemaker hadn’t drawn her. But her clothes, the ones he’d practically clawed off her, were gone. His own were now across the chair by the bed, not strewn across the great room along the path they’d followed to end up here. She must have picked them up. The thought made him edgy for reasons he couldn’t explain.

She couldn’t have just left—they’d come in his car. Not that walking five or so miles would stop Sloan Burke, not if she was determined. Did she want to avoid facing him this morning that much? He knew she had even less experience than he did in the proverbial morning after, but he also knew she had more nerve than he did. She must have; after all, she’d made the decision last night. And he knew on some deep level he couldn’t doubt that there wasn’t an ounce of run in her.

Belatedly it hit him that Sloan wasn’t the only one missing.

Cutter.

He rolled out and dressed hurriedly in the jeans that were on the chair. The moment he cleared the alcove wall, he saw the cabin was indeed empty.

“So she ran off with Cutter?” he mused aloud, his mouth quirking. No sooner had he said it than he heard a faint light laugh coming from outside.

He hadn’t really been worried, not deep down, so there was no explanation for the burst of relief he felt to hear her, to know that she was still here. But then, there was no explanation for a lot of things just now.

He went to the door and pulled it open. What he saw inexplicably tightened his chest. Sloan was throwing a ball for Cutter straight upward, and the nimble dog was catching it neatly, sometimes leaping high into the air as if the ball wasn’t coming down fast enough to suit him.

He walked quietly out onto the porch, leaned a shoulder against one of the rough wood poles that supported the roof. And watched.

Her hair was dampened from the heavy mist this morning, her shoes were soaking, and the ball the dog brought her again and again had to be wet itself, but she didn’t seem to care. She just laughed and crooned to the delighted animal and threw the now-more-gray-than-yellow ball again.

That she could be like this, after all she’d been through, was a testament to her character, he supposed. And in that moment he wanted nothing more than for this to go on forever. To stand here and watch woman and dog play with a sweet innocence he’d not seen in a very long time.

But the dog wasn’t his.

And despite last night, neither was the woman. He wasn’t fool enough to jump down that rabbit hole. She may have wanted, needed, the closeness, the joy they’d found last night, just as he had. But the bottom line hadn’t changed. This was a woman who came with ties, and he was a man with a job that too often destroyed them.

On the next midair catch, Cutter spun even as he landed and headed for the cabin at a run, wet, muddy ball firmly gripped in his teeth. He ran past Sloan and straight for Brett. She turned, a wide smile on her face, clearly as delighted as the dog was at the play. But something changed when she spotted him; something softer yet more heated came into her eyes as she looked at him.

He should have put a shirt on, he thought as her eyes ran over his bare chest. Then again, maybe not, he amended quickly as she followed the dog toward him, looking at him almost hungrily. Involuntarily his gut tightened; that look was like a caress.

“Sorry if we woke you,” she said as she came up beside him. “He just looked so hopeful holding that ball that I couldn’t say no.”

Cutter didn’t seem the least bit sorry. In fact, if a dog could look smug as he glanced at the two of them, he did. As if he’d orchestrated everything himself. As perhaps he had, Brett thought, remembering that first day the dog had arbitrarily chosen to make the turn that had led them to her.

“Don’t be. It was worth it to watch you two. Besides, I slept better than I have in ages.”

“But not much,” she said. Then color flooded her cheeks and she looked as if she regretted the words.

“Sometimes,” he said, “it’s not the quantity but the quality.” He reached out then, lifting her chin with a gentle finger. “And sometimes it’s both.”

She smiled. Lifted a hand to cup his. The heat of her seared him.

“Sloan, I—”

“Don’t.”

He stopped, his brows furrowing.

“Look,” she said, “I know this changes things. I know we’re in a new place and we both need to figure out what it is and isn’t. But not yet. Please?”

He drew back, feeling the oddest urge to grin at her as he said, “You’re asking me, the guy, to dodge the morning-after talk?”

That color rose in her cheeks once more. He resisted the temptation to tease her, because he very much wanted to do exactly what he’d said, dodge the morning-after talk. Because he couldn’t help thinking that as glorious as it had been, they’d only complicated things last night. Because they were both people with complicated lives and even more complicated pasts.

Not to mention that he suspected she was still very much in love with her husband. And that was something he understood too well. Even now he couldn’t think of Angie without a pang of loss and sadness.

But at least she hadn’t run. She hadn’t vanished without a word this morning, swept away on a tide of second thoughts. Which he seemed to be full of. He guessed that meant he was a real adult now, past the stage where he could be just happy about a night of hot, unexpectedly spectacular sex and just be hoping for a repeat rather than thinking about all this.

At least he knew Sloan wasn’t the type of woman who would make assumptions he wasn’t ready to live up to. She’d said it herself, that they needed to figure out what this was. And, perhaps more important, wasn’t. They had to—

The sound of his cell phone ringing cut off his thoughts. Probably just as well. He was getting damned close to having that morning-after talk with himself.

He went back inside, smothering a jolt of heat as he looked for his jacket, then found it where she had apparently hung it on the rack near the door. Sloan and Cutter followed him in, but she grabbed one of the towels he’d taken to keeping by the door and was drying the dripping dog off. She needed one herself, he thought, strangely pleased by the fact that she didn’t seem concerned about her own appearance before the welfare of the dog.

He pulled out the phone and glanced at the screen. It was a new number he hadn’t seen before, but it had his same prefix, so he tapped the talk button.

“Dunbar.”

“Detective!” The bluster was unmistakable. Harcourt Mead.

He glanced at Sloan, then walked into the bedroom alcove to cut down on any background noise from Cutter. Tried not to notice how wildly tangled the bed was. Thinking about last night and the incredible things that had happened between them wasn’t going to help, not when he needed to concentrate.

“Sir,” he said, able to put more respect in his voice when he could openly frown without being seen.

“Sorry to call you on Saturday, but Perkins tells me you did a great job yesterday clearing out that nuisance of a woman and her cohorts.”

It was all he could do to keep his tone steady as he fought the instant surge of protectiveness that hit him at the man’s denigrating words. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve gotten some new information on her. She could be a real problem. She’s caused trouble before, a lot of trouble.”

Brett felt a chill creeping over him. He’d discovered who she was. The big guy, he guessed. He’d known. He was more certain than ever now.

She’s caused trouble before, a lot of trouble.

Those were the two sides in what Sloan had done, those who thought she had caused trouble and those who thought she had done something heroic. “Has she?”

“My friend the governor is all too familiar with her.”

The governor? Not the big guy? Brett was getting that pit-of-the-stomach feeling that never boded well. And Sloan was right here now, looking at him.
Mead?
she mouthed. He nodded. He held up one finger, hoping she’d realize it meant he was fishing.

“She mentioned something about knowing the governor, even working with him.”

“Oh, that’s the front he has to put on, because she got some heavy hitters on her side somehow. The support of the military nut jobs.”

“She seems harmless enough,” he said.
Unless she’s in bed with you, driving you crazier than you’ve ever been in your life.

“Don’t kid yourself. She’s a malicious piece of work. And I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d continue to keep an eye on her.”

“My pleasure,” Brett said, putting as much oil in his tone as he could manage. “Anything in particular you’re concerned about?”

“Just keep her out of county business. If you can convince her—whatever you have to do—to give up on this silly zoning thing, I’d consider it an even larger favor. And believe me, Detective, I know how to repay a favor.”

“Good to know, sir.”

His mind was racing as he ended the call. Things were starting to happen. He’d obviously succeeded in earning the man’s trust. He could use that. Mead had talked to the governor about Sloan. That made him uneasy.

But nothing made him more uneasy than the words that kept echoing in his mind repeatedly.

Whatever you have to do...

Sloan wasn’t just on their radar now.

She was a target.