Page 54 of Mean Streak

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A t the mention of the eight fatalities, Hayes abruptly got up and replaced the chair beneath the dining table. “You’d better turn in, Doc.”

“Turn in?”

“Tomorrow could be a long day.”

“I demand an explanation for what Agent Connell told us about you.”

“Bedroom’s down the hall. Bathroom’s on the right. I’ll bunk on the couch.”

“Hayes?” When he came around to her, she said, “I assume that’s your real name. Hayes Bannock?”

He hesitated before giving her a brusque nod.

“I’m glad to finally know it.”

“Don’t speak too soon.”

“If I looked you up on the Internet, what would I find? Your army service record? Your degree in constructional engineering? Your sister and niece in Seattle?”

“My, my. Connell was a fount of information, wasn’t he?”

“He referenced a soccer coach. A priest. Others in addition to Norman and Will Floyd.”

“I take that back. He was a babbling brook.”

“All related to that shooting in Virginia.”

His eyes turned cold and hostile. “You should go to bed, Doc. Get some sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“Okay then, I’ll turn in.”

He made for the hallway, but she quickly placed herself in his path. “Tell me what all this is about.”

“I’m sure you’ll find out, in time.”

“I want to know now. I want to hear it from your own lips, not from someone else’s.”

“Why?”

“Because otherwise I’ll never believe you were involved in something so heinous.”

“Well I was.” His tone was curt, matter of fact. “There. That’s all you need to know and all you’ll get from me. It has nothing to do with the here and now.”

“Agent Connell thinks it does.”

“Agent Connell can go fuck himself. What happened then doesn’t pertain to you.”

“But it pertains to you .”

“It’s not my life I’m trying to save! It’s yours.”

“I don’t need you to save me,” she said, warming to the argument. “I can go to Connell myself, to Knight and Grange, and—”

“What?”

“Accuse Jeff.”

He gave a stern shake of his head. “Not a good plan.”

“Why?”

“You don’t have any evidence to support your allegations.”

She opened her hand, showing him that she had the zipper pull, then quickly snatched her hand back.

He shrugged with indifference. “Useless. Where you got it and when, your word against his, remember?”

“But it and the rock together would—”

“You don’t have the rock.”

“But you do.”

“That’s right. I do.”

“You’d hold it hostage from me?”

“To keep you from barging in and exposing yourself to that slimy son of a bitch you’re married to? Damn right, I would.”

“Jeff couldn’t do anything to me while I’m surrounded by law enforcement officers.”

“Which is the only reason I didn’t come and get you sooner. I waited outside the hospital last night until I saw Jeff leave and figured you were safe. You spent most of today in the company of men with badges.

“But what happens when they pack up and go home for lack of evidence against him? You’ll have played your hand. You will have accused him. How do you think that will sit with him when he was already prepared to murder you?”

It was a valid point. Even if Jeff were now to provide an iron-clad alibi, she would never trust him or feel comfortable alone with him. Ever again. “All right, my plan is flawed. Do you have one? What do you intend to do?”

“With the rock?”

“With all of it. With what you know about Jeff. With me.”

“I don’t know yet.”

She thought of the Floyds, suffering in their hospital beds. “But you’ll stay within the law, right?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Frustrated almost to the point of tears, she said, “Tell me about Virginia.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No!”

“I want to know what you did!”

“No, you don’t!” His shout echoed off the walls of the confined space. A few seconds passed, then he said in a low voice, “Trust me. You don’t.”

His strained enunciation, his unyielding expression intimidated her. She backed away from him. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know.” Looking around frantically, she said, “In fact, why did I even come here with you?”

“That, I will answer.” He took measured steps toward her. “I didn’t drag you off that balcony and force you to come with me. But I would have if necessary.” He let that sink in, then took a step nearer and kept closing in until his face hovered above hers.

“If I’d had to, I would have wrapped you in bailing wire and carried you off. Because I’d rather see you shy away from me, rather see you cringing with fright and mistrust like you are now, rather see you any other way except dead.”

It wasn’t poetry, but it was profound. Her heart expanded with emotion. She reached up to touch his cheek.

But before it could make contact, he caught her wrist and held her hand away from him. When he finally let it go, he motioned down the hall and ordered gruffly, “Go to bed. Lock the door if it makes you feel safer.”

***

He waited.

She didn’t move.

She remained staring up at him with eyes that were calm, accepting, trusting. The opposite of what they should be.

“Okay,” he growled, “you asked for this.”

He clasped her around the waist and turned her to face the wall.

He pulled her sweater over her head, then discarded her camisole in the same ungentle manner.

Her bra strap fell victim to his jerky impatience.

The garment fell forward from her chest. He pushed it off her, then took her hands, placed them flat against the wall, and covered them with his as he crowded in behind her.

He nipped the side of her neck with his teeth, wanting to mark her as his, damn well knowing he had no right to her, no right even to want her. “Scared?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not doing it right.”

He charted a trail of biting kisses down her throat; she whimpered but with arousal, not fear. He thrust against her bottom, making certain she knew he meant business. “Now are you afraid?”

Rather than recoil, she pushed back, adjusting the fit, increasing the pressure, causing him to hiss through his teeth.

“You’re playing with fire, Doc.”

When she did it again with a grinding motion, he removed his hands from hers, reached around, and blindly unfastened her jeans.

With little finesse, he pushed his hand into her panties and between her thighs, finding her hot, wet, swollen with the same insistent desire that was throbbing through him.

His fingers curled upward, into her. He stroked the magic spot and felt her quicken. Against her ear, he whispered roughly, “I want to be right there. Right now.”

He turned her and lifted her against him, carrying her down the short hallway and into the bedroom. He stood her beside the bed, and she began to take off the rest of her clothes as hastily as he began removing his.

He was naked before she got off her second boot. Flinging back the bedspread, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for her just as she stepped free of her underwear.

Positioning her between his open thighs, he held her breast and took the nipple into his mouth, tugging at it with hunger, almost desperation, before folding his arms around her, drawing her closer and pressing his face into her giving middle, then lower into the sweet muskiness of her sex.

Nuzzling there, he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then parted them with more mastery than necessary, because it was clear by now that, as baffling as it was, her trust in him was unshakable.

He used his thumbs to spread her, expose her, prepare her for his mouth’s assault.

He dipped his tongue into her, once, twice, three times, going deep, then applied it to the tender flesh in fleeting strokes, eliciting from her choppy breaths that coalesced into a low moan when he sucked her tight little center into his mouth.

But he didn’t want her to come until he was inside her. He guided her down onto the bed, stood on his knees between her raised thighs, and was about to lower himself onto her when she said, “Wait!”

“I can’t.”

Well, he could—he did—when she angled up, clasped his ass between her hands and took the head of his cock into her mouth.

The pleasure was so immense, he clenched his teeth and wasn’t even aware of the pressure he was applying to his jaw until the tip of her tongue delved into the groove, found the sweet spot, and he tried to speak.

He gasped and groaned and managed to strangle out, “Christ, I thought I’d dreamed the way you do that.

” A few seconds more and he panted, “Doc, stop. Stop.”

He eased her head away, but not before she got in one quick kiss on his tat.

When she lay back, he followed her down and sank into her, pushing until they couldn’t possibly be any closer, then he settled his weight onto her and buried his face in her neck. “You’ll be the ruin of me. But fuck if I can help myself.”

He levered himself up and, eyes focused on hers, began to thrust into her.

And it was incredible, not only because she was so deliciously tight and silky. She was. Not only because she perfectly timed a corresponding motion for each short, quick jab and every long, smooth glide of his cock. She did.

Not only because whenever he all but pulled out, she worked the tip of his penis with seductive belly-dance motions until he couldn’t stand it any longer and had to again sheathe himself completely.

Not only because her hands caressed him with flawless intuition. And not only because, when she climaxed, he felt every convulsive squeeze, but also saw the tears in her eyes that attested to the overflowing emotion behind them.

All that contributed. But what made him come harder, longer, and more meaningfully than he ever had in his life, was that in those moments when he lost himself in her, she closed her arms around his head, and held it close, and said on a sigh, as though it was the dearest word in her vocabulary, “Hayes.”

For a long time after, neither of them moved. Eventually, his mind cleared enough for him to have that oh shit instant of realization: he’d come inside her without anything between them. Which was also why it had been so good, and why he didn’t regret it enough to disengage himself quite yet.

When he finally did move, he came up on one elbow and looked into her face. She smiled drowsily. He cupped her chin in his free hand and kissed her, taking his time, mating his mouth with hers, lecherously and leisurely.

When at last he angled his head back, he said, “Lucky for me, you don’t scare easily.”

“Lucky for me too.”

“But you’re still in danger, Doc. So be scared. Just not of me.”

“I know.”

“Never of me.”

“I’m not.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I don’t know everything, but one thing I do know. You weren’t responsible for the deaths of eight innocent people.”

Like the mellow glow of a lantern suddenly extinguished, his soul became dark and cold again.

He pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, he said, “You’re right. Only seven of them were innocent.”