A Night of Southern Comfort (13 page)

“In perspective?” Her voice was cautious.

“Yeah. We both know this can’t be serious or anything.”

“Of course not.”

“So, we just continue as we were and forget all of this.”

“And you’ll catch my secret admirer and head back to DC.”

“That’s right.”

“And this”—she gestured between them, ending in a soft caress on his chest—“will just end.”

His chest tightened underneath her touch and he breathed in deeply as he covered her hand with his own. The momentary thought of making this more than a fling was the most selfish thing he’d ever done. “I care about you, Kayla. And because of that I’m not going to pretend we have a shot together. Not in the real world.”

“Because of your job?

“Yes. I work undercover. I have to become something ugly to do that job well.”

Her eyes were rainy gray, betraying her emotions. She wanted more—so did he—but it wasn’t possible. Even if she convinced him he could do his job and still keep her, she’d leave him the minute she learned of his deal with her father. As much as he hated the sadness in her now, he didn’t want to contemplate the hatred she would have if he let them fall any deeper into this.

A familiar ringtone jangled out into the silence, announcing a call from Lucky. Long ago, his partner had programmed the buddy song from an animated movie about toys into his phone and Jack never had the heart to change it.

Releasing Kayla, he searched the floor for his jacket and retrieved the phone from his pocket. “What’s up, Lucky?” He listened for a few moments, watching curiosity overtake Kayla’s features. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

He put the phone in his pocket and grabbed his shirt off the floor before turning to face Kayla. Her face was paler than usual, back rigid, bracing herself for the worst. Considering their conversation just five minutes ago, Jack wasn’t sure if his news was good or not, but he pasted a grin on his face, then pulled the T-shirt over his head.

“You’ll want to get dressed. Lucky caught your stalker.”

Chapter Eleven

Michaela hated waiting.

Years of cooling her heels with her brother as they waited for the governor to trot them out and put them on display made it her least favorite pastime. And it felt like days—even though it was only a couple of hours—since Sheriff Burke had planted her in this vacant office with an endless supply of nasty coffee. He’d tried to make her comfortable, placing an “Elliott City Jail” emblazoned pillow and blanket on the couch located on the opposite side of the room. But she’d remained seated in the uncomfortable desk chair with the bird’s-eye view of the interrogation room that contained Jackson, Lucky, and her stalker—Terrell Willis.

She was still reeling over that news flash. Michaela had given Terrell a job as her handyman at the request of his sister and her landlord, Crystal. As far as she knew, they’d gotten along famously. But Lucky had caught him red-handed, literally, as he graffitied the front of her office in garish, crimson paint. The words “Hore Go Away” made up in venom what they lacked in spelling.

They’d driven past her office on the way to the sheriff’s office, and she’d laughed so hard at the hateful scribble that Jackson had an open look of alarm on his face. Laughing was the only possible reaction—she refused to break down in front of him again. The post-orgasmic verbal diarrhea was bad enough without adding a crying jag to the emotional roller coaster of the last twenty-four hours. That was enough to send any man screaming off into the night. Hell, even she wanted off this crazy ride.

And when he wrapped this case up tonight, Jackson would be free to head for the nearest exit.

The heat of her humiliation crept up her neck and across her cheeks as she remembered the scene in her bedroom. The combination of sizzling sex, danger, and her emotional state made the brief loss of control over her mouth inevitable.

She loved him. He knew it.

She’d lied about it. He pretended to believe her.

But he loved her too.

She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. He would never say it because he wouldn’t give her false hope. It wasn’t a question of him wanting to stay—he’d never give himself permission to stop pursuing reinstatement in the FBI. He had something to prove and it drove him with a passion greater than the one he had for her.

Besides, Jackson didn’t belong here, and this was the place she’d chosen to start her new life. Wrong place. Wrong time. Right man.

The door to the interrogation room scraped the old wooden floors as it swung open. Jackson, Lucky, and Sheriff Burke emerged from the room, the strain of the last few hours evident in the slump of their shoulders. They shut the door and talked quietly together in the hallway. Lucky looked annoyed, Sheriff Burke skeptical, and Jackson was seriously ticked off.

They spoke for several minutes, clearly debating an issue when the sheriff threw his hands in the air and stalked away. Lucky and Jackson continued to speak in low tones, one blond head, the other black as night, bent together as they debated whatever had happened in the interrogation room.

She stood and walked around the desk, straining to hear what they said. Even though she knew it was about her, she was hesitant to intrude. They functioned so well as partners, it was clear the bond between them ran deep. If Jackson and his FBI partner had possessed half of the same connection, it must have destroyed him to watch his partner die.

Finally, Jackson turned, the strain tightening his jaw into a hard edge. He wasn’t happy with whatever had happened in that room. The pressure in her chest made it hard to breathe.

Michaela leaned back against the desk, gripping the edge like a vise as he advanced on her with even, heavy footsteps. His dour expression didn’t improve upon closer inspection.

“Is he—” Her throat, tight from the hours of silence, didn’t want to let her words go. “Is he the one?”

Jackson nodded, his face grim. Shouldn’t he be happier? His job was done.

“He’s the one. We found the pictures and a notebook tracking your schedule. It’s more than enough to charge him.”

“Did he say why?”

“No.” Jackson’s jaw flexed. “No. He just kept asking for Crystal.”

“His sister? Why?”

“She’s bailed him out his entire life. He probably thinks she’s going to do it again.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “I’ve got shoes with a higher IQ than Terrell.”

“So, it’s over?” She held her breath waiting for the answer, afraid of what he’d say but desperate to know the truth.

He looked at her and reached out to push a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. His eyes, dark and tender, were also full of hard decision. This was the beginning of the end.

“Yeah, I think it is. All the facts point to his guilt and once we get his bank records, I’m sure we’ll find the reason he did it.”

Dropping his hand, Jackson shifted so he could lean against the desk. Their shoulders brushed. His pose was casual, long legs crossed nonchalantly in front of him, but tension rolled off him like a wave. His mood was impossible to decipher and it drove her nuts.

Her reaction was even more infuriating. She was disappointed. Like some crazy woman she was
disappointed
to have her stalker caught because it meant that Jackson would be out of her life.

If Terrell isn’t the one, then Jackson will stay
.

She didn’t want him that way. She wanted him to stay because being with her was more important than his ambition, because he loved her. She wanted what no one in her life had ever given her and even though she knew she was a fool to hope for it, she couldn’t help herself.

“Sheriff Burke will have a deputy take you home and stay with you. I’ve got at least a couple more hours here,” he said.

“Will you come home when you’re done?”

Her choice of words surprised her and by the look on his face it shocked him as well.

“Kayla.” His voice was low, thick with a tender warning. He looked down at the floor. “I told you. This can’t—”

She straddled his thighs and claimed his mouth in a kiss of longing, lips firm against his, tongue seeking the entrance that he quickly gave on a growl of desire. Had it only been a few hours since he’d been in her bed? She strained against him, her body hungering, aching for him and his touch. She snaked her hands around his neck, seeking the soft skin and hair at his nape, caressing the tension out of the tendons straining under his hot skin.

Michaela released his mouth and leaned her forehead against his as their breath mingled with every sharp pant that coursed between them. She’d lived her life afraid to want. If this was truly a new start, then she had to reach for what she needed. She couldn’t let him go. Even if his answer was the same, she had to let him know.

“I lied to you Jackson. I lied.” She pressed her lips against his to stop his reply. “I love you.”

Jackson pulled back and framed her face in his hands. His expression was shadowed with regret but the most prominent emotion was longing. Dark and powerful.

Her heart seized, hope flaring to life that for once his desire would prevail over his logic.

“I… I…” Jackson’s expression was grim, pained. “I can’t do this. I can’t stay.”

“Then don’t. We’ll do it your way.” Michaela bit down the hysterical laugh bubbling up her throat. This was crazy. “You go to DC and I’ll be here. You come to me when you can or I’ll come to you.”

“And you’d be happy with that? Waiting for me? For weeks? Months?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip in frustration at this truth. But she’d rather try than just walk away. “I’m willing to try.”

A short cough in the hallway behind her interrupted them. Turning her head, Michaela saw a younger deputy and Lucky loitering just outside the door. The officer wore an embarrassed expression but Lucky smirked as he looked over the scene before him.

Michaela still straddled Jackson’s long legs, her hands tunneled under his clothing.

She didn’t care. Miss Manners could go screw herself.

She turned back to Jackson. Dark and intense as always, he watched her. She couldn’t read all of his emotions but she knew indecision when she saw it. Leaving this conversation for later was probably for the best. The police station wasn’t the best place for her to use everything in her arsenal to remove his doubt and get him to take a chance.

She’d need fewer clothes and a horizontal surface for that.

Easing away from his embrace, Michaela leaned over and delivered a swift, warm kiss to his lips, resisting the urge to linger and taste. She whispered in his ear, “Wake me up when you come home.”

…

“You look like shit “

Jack flipped Lucky the bird and settled back against the open tailgate of his truck. The sounds of his best friend’s footsteps blended into the noise bouncing around the mostly empty sheriff’s office parking lot. He’d escaped out here after a couple additional hours of interrogation to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

He’d tried everything in his power to convince Terrell to give up the name of the person who put him up to stalking Kayla. In spite of his interrogation, with Lucky playing the good cop as usual, their suspect had refused to talk. In fact, he only repeated his request to have his sister come to the station.

“What’s that look all about?” Lucky settled next to him on the truck bed. “Terrell? Michaela? Both?”

He shrugged, scanning the dark edges of the lot and listening to the sounds of the sleepy little town—the AC units humming, distant voices on Main Street. He huffed out a breath, releasing some of the tension in his body.

“It doesn’t feel right. Terrell couldn’t organize a riot at an anarchy convention.” He paused at Lucky’s chuckle. “I can’t believe he planned the stalking, the blackmail.”

“Even the dumbest ones get it right sometime. If we find the money in his account it’s pretty much open and shut.”

“Yeah.” His skin prickled with unease but it wouldn’t be the first time his gut was wrong.

“So, let’s look behind door number two.” Lucky grinned in the night, his teeth flashing white in the lamplight. “Dr. Roarke? You two looked very cozy. I guess it’s going to be a bitch to call it off when you go to DC.”

Jack debated whether to continue this conversation, but he needed to hear what Lucky had to say. He counted on his oldest friend’s opinion.

“She doesn’t want to call it off.” Beside Jack, Lucky fell silent, his sudden attention slicing through the semidarkness like a knife. “She says she loves me.”

“And you?”

Jack bypassed the answer. He didn’t know himself. He cared about her, wanted her, but the love thing was something he’d never figured into the equation.

“She says we can be together on weekends.” His tone highlighted his confusion.
How could that possibly work?

Lucky clapped him on the shoulder as he jumped off the tailgate. He fished in his pocket for his car keys. “Do it.”

“Are you serious? That’s your advice? What about her father and our little bargain?”

Lucky opened the door to his truck and paused before climbing in. “Do it. Just tell her. You need something other than the job. Something waiting for you on the outside. If you don’t, I don’t know what will happen.”

Jack knew what he really meant.
If you don’t have something outside of the job, one day you won’t come out.
God knows he’d worried about that himself. Leaving the cesspool of undercover work was hard, assimilating back into “normal” society a challenge. A loner by nature, he wasn’t good at reaching out.

Jack watched Lucky climb in and drive out of the lot. Reaching for his keys, he got behind the wheel, and headed to the place he had started to think of as home. This was complicated. His work life made a normal relationship almost impossible and Kayla had no idea what she was getting herself into by even suggesting they continue after he returned to DC.

But you want her
.

He didn’t want to end this. But to stay with her would be delaying the inevitable. So, why did it feel like the absolutely right thing to do?

At her door, he relieved the deputy sitting watch in his patrol car and sent him on his way. Her little house was quiet, dark, and still as he entered. The fragrance of her perfume in the air calmed his mind and melted the tension from his bones. He was at peace here and it wasn’t the place—it was Kayla. She was where he belonged.

He set the alarms, still uneasy about her safety, and walked across the living room. The silence was broken only by the cadence of her grandfather clock, its tattoo in perfect sync with the desire throbbing in his veins. Jack paused at the doorway to her bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as he sought her out.

She was asleep, her golden hair spilling out on her pillow. A sliver of moon glow shone through the window and cast her beautiful features in sharp relief. His cock twitched at the sight. If he climbed in beside her, she would welcome him with her body and her heart.