Truth and Consequences (17 page)

Kathleen pulled into Tick Calvert’s driveway and parked behind his dusty Z-71. The warm breeze swayed through the pines sheltering his white frame farmhouse. A partially finished brick pathway led to the back porch, scattered with paint cans, tools and stacks of lumber.

She stepped over a circular saw and rapped at the door. Long moments passed and she knocked again. Anger hummed under her skin, a fury that had started to brew while she showered Jason’s scent from her body.

Washing away the memory of his touch had been unsuccessful. Her skin still tingled from the hot water against tender skin abraded by his stubble. A tiny love bite reddened the upper curve of her breast, hidden by the skinny T-shirt she’d tossed on with khaki shorts. He’d marked her.

In more ways than one.

He’d made her feel, forget all her ingrained rules. He made her want it all to be real.

Enough games. She could at least find out if his muttered “agent” was the truth. If it was, Tick Calvert would get an earful about not involving the GBI in what should have been a joint operation from the beginning. The Feds weren’t the only ones peculiar about their territory.

“Tick!” She knocked a third time and glanced toward the river. Knowing him, he could be up early, down on the dock fishing. She walked toward the porch’s edge, wishing the heavy tree line didn’t keep her from seeing the water.

The door swung open. She spun and glared at Tick, clad in a pair of worn jeans. “What took you so long?”

Scratching his bare chest, he glowered, blinking bleary eyes at her. “I was asleep.”

“We need to talk.” She brushed by him and walked into his large keeping room kitchen, heavy with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and new paint. He’d removed the horrid green linoleum she remembered and her tennis shoes whispered on plywood.

“Well, good morning, Mary Sunshine.” He closed the door with a little more force than necessary. “I’m fine, Kath, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Annoyed.”

“What else is new? Want some coffee?”

She settled on a stool at the island and watched him move about the kitchen, muscles rippling along his lean frame as he tugged on a faded UGA T-shirt. Why couldn’t she want him? He was decent, hardworking and upright, loved his mother and spoiled his nieces and nephews. Her parents thought the sun rose and set in him. His devilish grin and chocolate eyes set hearts aflutter all over southwest Georgia. Giggled whispers proclaimed him the best kisser in three counties.

And he did absolutely nothing for her.

No, she had to go and fall for a man she didn’t even know, one she couldn’t trust.

“Kathleen?”

Her gaze focused on Tick once more. He eyed her with a quizzical expression and set a mug of coffee before her. She grimaced. “Sorry. I zoned.”

“No kidding.” He pulled a frying pan from a cabinet, set it on the stove and went to the refrigerator. Juggling eggs and butter, he faced her again. “Now why are you dragging me out of bed at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Harding’s a Fed, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s all you can say?”

“You got your way, Kathleen. You lied about having someone ready to go in Haynes County and you manipulated me into getting permission to tell you about Harding. So, yeah, that’s all I have to say.”

Relief flooded her body, followed by a crashing wave of fury and fear. “And of course it never occurred to anyone to involve the GBI?”

“Need-to-know basis.” He cracked eggs into a bowl, shoulder blades flexing while he whisked. “The boys at the OCD didn’t think the GBI needed to know.”

“So why tell me now?”

“Because we’d rather Harding’s attachment to you was useful instead of harmful.” He stacked bread in the bowl of eggs. “I’d hate to see the kid get killed because his mind’s on you.”

“Harding isn’t attached to me.”

“Lying’s a sin, Kath. Remember that. The only way that boy could be more attached to you would be if I duct-taped you together.”

“Define useful.”

He laid the first two pieces of egg-sodden bread in the frying pan. Melted butter hissed and popped with the contact. “Communication has been a bitch. It’s too easy to get caught meeting. If you’re involved with Harding…that makes you the perfect go-between.”

“We’re not involved.”

“Yeah.” He shot her a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Jim Ed thinks you are. That’s what counts. And it could also solve another little problem.”

“What kind of little problem?” She eyed the back of his head and tried to ignore the tempting smell of French toast. Her stomach rumbled.

Tick slid a plate in front of her and reached into a cupboard for syrup. He looked everywhere but at her and her chest clenched.

“Tick. What kind of little problem?”

He returned to the island with two forks and his own plate. He took the syrup bottle and dribbled an intricate pattern over his toast. The tight foreboding in her stomach grew with his silence.

Finally he looked up. “Harding’s profile indicates loyalty is a strong motivation for him. We’ve played on his loyalty to his country, to the law, to right and wrong.”

“You mean you’ve manipulated him.” The thought sickened her.

“Yeah.” Brows drawn together and his mouth tight, Tick didn’t look too happy about the idea either. “But he’s our one shot. We’ll never be able to get anyone else in that department. He knows that.”

“I don’t see the problem.” Or it was right in front of her and she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Family is important to him.”

“And Jim Ed is family. You’re afraid his loyalty will shift when it gets down and dirty.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“No, it’s not.” She couldn’t articulate how she knew. She just did.

A grin quirked at Tick’s mouth. “I didn’t think so either, but I learned a while back not to argue with the Behavioral Science guys.”

She fixed him with a look. “Now explain how I’m supposed to keep his loyalty from shifting.”

“You already have.”

“Right.”

“Kath, listen. Being undercover, being someone you’re not—it plays with your head. Makes you wonder where you end and where the persona really begins. A guy needs something to hang on to.” He stared at a spot over her head while he talked, a faraway expression in his eyes.

What had he hung on to during that year he’d worked deep cover in Mississippi? The one that brought him back to Georgia a changed man, quieter, more withdrawn. What was this operation going to do to Jason?

What had it already done? What kind of man had he been before?

“Tick?”

His eyes regained their sharp focus and he looked at her. “You’re Harding’s something to hold on to.”

Another expectation. Her stomach twisted and she pushed her plate away untouched. She didn’t want Jason to need her, anymore than she wanted to need him. She did, though, the need going beyond the physical.

“This should work a heck of a lot better than what we had before.” Tick forked up a piece of toast. “No need for sneaking around any longer. You’ll need to sweep your place for bugs daily, though.”

His casual approach grated. She struggled for an even tone. “You have this all worked out, don’t you?”

“It’s perfect. I wish we’d thought of it before.”

“Glad to be of service.”

He stared, another bite of syrup-laden toast halfway to his mouth. “Why are you pissed? I thought you liked Harding and would want to be in on this.”

“I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s not one.” No problem except she’d fallen in love again and there was more than her heart on the line. If she failed, it could mean Jason’s life.

Jason hacked at the weeds choking his mother’s roses. His side ached with each movement, but he needed something physical to do. He’d made two unsuccessful attempts to raise Calvert on the encrypted cell phone, and the urge to say the heck with rules and regulations snaked through him.

He should have told her last night, standing in the hallway. He’d known then he should toss the dictates, but he hadn’t. He wanted her trust, wanted her to believe in him regardless.

The phone rang, the shrill sound carrying through the open windows. He flung the machete down into the earth, the handle standing at attention and vibrating. Each jogging step jarred his side. Inside, he grabbed the cordless phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Kathleen.” Her cool voice washed over him, a dip in the lake on a blazing day.

“Hey.” He leaned against the counter, fingers wrapped around the phone, wishing those same fingers were against her skin.

Silence stretched along the line and he swallowed. What was he supposed to say to the woman who’d loved him like none other? The one who’d left while he slept. He said the first words that came into his mind.

“I missed you this morning.”

“I’m sorry.” Her soft sigh whispered against his ear. “I needed some time…to get things straight.”

That didn’t sound good. On the other hand, she was calling him. He tilted his head back against the cabinet. He didn’t get women, and he didn’t get this one in particular. But he wanted to. For the first time in his life, he wanted to know everything, understand everything about a woman. He wanted to know Kathleen.

“Jason?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was thinking. So did you? Get things straight?”

“I’m beginning to. I talked to Tick this morning. He’s taking his boat out on the lake later and he asked if we wanted to come along.”

“Sounds good.” She
knew
. She knew who he was. Uncertainty tempered his relief because from her even tone, he couldn’t tell how she felt. He shoved his free hand through his sweaty hair and tried to think.

“Great. So I’ll see you at my place in an hour or so?”

“Yeah. Can’t wait.”

The line went dead, and he returned the phone to its charging cradle.

Going out on Calvert’s boat?

Kathleen was going to be his go-between. It made a weird kind of sense, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Their dating would be perfect cover and he loved the idea of losing the barrier his lies erected between them.

He wasn’t crazy about having her mixed up in the middle of this mess.

He could continue to convince Jim Ed he had her “under control”. At the thought, a grin curved his mouth. Like Kathleen Palmer would ever submit to any man’s control.

She’d yielded to him, though. The memory of her beneath him, accepting him, widened his grin. He tugged off his shirt and headed toward the bathroom to clean up.

He’d just have to keep her close to ensure her safety.

Really, really close.

The setting sun sparkled off the lake surface, a dazzling array of golds and crimsons. Jason stood on the dock. Kathleen and Altee’s soft conversation drifted from the yard above, the words indistinguishable. An odd blend of anticipation and contentment hovered in his gut.

With Calvert gone and Altee preparing to leave, he looked forward to being alone with Kathleen after an afternoon spent on the water, talking strategy and soaking up too much sun. He could think of few things better than the simple pleasure of being in her presence, having the freedom of casual touches—brushing his fingers against her ankle while she lounged next to him, taking her hand to help her from the boat. Little caresses that satisfied the need to touch her yet left him wanting more.

An engine started, the smooth sound of a well-maintained machine, and tires crunched on the gravel drive. Jason turned and watched Kathleen approach. She moved with an elegant grace he associated with ballet dancers, and he smiled. She’d be as comfortable in a designer gown as in the sparkly blue bikini and white board shorts.

She stopped a few feet away, not smiling. “I thought I’d make dinner, since we didn’t get a chance last night.”

“Sounds good.” His hands itched to stroke against the creamy skin exposed by the tiny bathing suit. “Need some help?”

“I can handle it, thanks. I’m not making anything fancy.” Her gaze dropped from his. “You got a little sun. Your shoulders are red.”

He touched a finger to his skin and shrugged off the slight discomfort. “I’ve had worse.”

“Kuwait?”

“The beach at Panama City.”

She laughed, weakening the invisible barrier he sensed. Her head tilted at a curious angle, she eyed him.

He shook his head. “What is it?”

Her gaze shifted away. “I just…you’re a stranger. I don’t
know
you.”

“Yeah, you do.” He stepped closer and the coconut scent of her tanning lotion tickled his nose. Lush images of their bodies entwined on a sandy, secluded beach invaded his brain and sent blood to his groin in a tingling rush. “You know what’s important.”

“And what is that?” Her nervous laugh died when he reached for her hand.

“That I’m the same guy I was last night.” He flattened her palm against his chest. Her fingers flexed, a soft caress. Her skin glistened, and if he pressed his mouth to the curve of her breast, she would taste of sun, salt and coconut. “That everything last night was real.”

She parted her lips, her tongue darting out to touch her bottom lip. He swallowed a groan, wanting again. She stepped closer, sliding her hand up his chest, over his shoulder to his nape, a burning trail of pleasure-pain in its path. Her mouth whispered over his.

“I’m not really hungry right now,” she said.

“I am,” he whispered, ready to devour her. He took her mouth, his hands sliding around her waist and tugging her against him.

She circled his neck with her arms, their bare stomachs brushing. She pulled her lips from his and kissed her way along his jaw. A sharp nip at his earlobe wrung another groan from him. “Kathleen.”

She rubbed the arch of her foot along his calf. “Still want to make love on my white sheets?”

“God, yes.” He pulled his head back and stared down into knowing brown eyes. “How did you—”

“Are you coming?” She spun and walked up the rise toward the house. She tossed him a come-hither look over her shoulder, her hips moving in a soft sway.

He stood for a moment, desire freezing his muscles. If Guinevere had been half as enticing, Lancelot never stood a chance. Forget Camelot. Forget loyalty and honor and everything but the woman who called to him with such a sweet siren’s song.

He followed.

Kathleen left the door open and walked down the hall, the wood floor cool under her feet. Desire swirled in her stomach, flowing to a heated ache between her legs. Her body felt open and ready for him, and he’d barely touched her. Not the normal reaction of the good girl her parents had raised.

She wanted to be deliciously, wickedly bad with him.

The door to her bedroom swung inward under her light touch. Remnants of sunlight lay in golden slats across the floor and her bed.

The French door in the living room clicked closed and footsteps whispered in the hall. The pressure in her abdomen built and radiated out, tingling along her thighs and arms, making her breasts swollen and heavy, aching for his touch.

When the footsteps stopped at the doorway, she turned. He stood, a familiar stranger, staring at her with blazing eyes. His gaze flicked to the bed and back to her, if possible, burning even hotter. Her own gaze dropped to the rigid line of his arousal beneath his navy swim trunks.

Without a word, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her against him. He kissed her, a long, sexy kiss, his tongue doing things to her mouth that made her moan and wind her legs around his waist, holding on to keep from melting at his feet.

His erection pressed between her legs and she rubbed against him, wanting to assuage the ache. Stinging pleasure arced through her, intensifying the emptiness only he could fill.

She traced the line of his shoulders and back, the muscles bunching under her touch. His mouth fused to hers, he turned to the bed and they fell into it, her lush featherbed billowing up to cradle them. He broke the kiss, his chest heaving. She eased her hands along his jaw, once again learning the lines and hollows of his features.

He reached for the ties of her bikini top and tossed the brief garment over his shoulder. With strong hands, he molded her curves, thumbs feathering over taut nipples, and her hips shifted in a restless, wanting rhythm.

She shouldn’t be this eager. His touch shouldn’t make her writhe and scream and beg for more. She should care that she didn’t care.

His mouth closed on her breast, and all shoulds and shouldn’ts fled her mind, leaving only the wild, blinding desire.

Hot fingers drifted over her stomach and delved beneath her shorts and bikini bottom. He stroked her wetness, long, deep caresses, and she bit back a scream, the sound emerging as a guttural moan that earned her his satisfied laugh against her breast.

He worshipped the line of her stomach, easing the shorts and bikini from her body. Still clad in his trunks, he paused, poised over her on his hands and knees, and stared down. The mixture of awe and fiery passion in his eyes sent trembles through her limbs.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, one finger trailing from the pulse at her neck, between her breasts, down her stomach to her thigh.

She blinked back sudden tears, frightened by his ability to make her feel complete with a look, a touch, the right words. “Jason.”

He caught the sigh with his mouth, his touch on her pushing the fire higher and higher. She reached for him, seeking the warmth and texture of his skin.

Finally, with a rough groan, he tugged away and shucked his trunks. She watched the muscles and tendons ripple under his sun-warmed skin while he pulled his wallet from the shorts. Visible tremors shook his hands as he sheathed his erection and his shakiness solidified her conviction.

He was right. This was real. She knew enough.

He nudged her thighs apart and his fingers twined with hers, their hands next to her head on the soft pillow.

A breath and a sigh later, he sank into her, filling the aching, pulsing emptiness. Her hold on him tightened. He moved within her, slow, deep thrusts, and she met the rhythm, wanting all of him.

The intensity built, swirling, enveloping, drawing her in to the reality he created until she didn’t know where he ended and she began. When the explosion came, her only awareness was of pleasure and the man calling her name.