Blaze (30 page)

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Authors: Joan Swan

BOOK: Blaze
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“Harder,” he rasped against her ear.
Luke pulled out. She rocked again, squeezing her glutes for punch.
“Come on,” he taunted. “Use that gorgeous ass. Give me some goddamned power.”
She tried again. Harder.
“Ah, yeah. That's it. Again, baby.”
Each thrust pushed her another step toward the cliff, the slap of sweaty flesh like quick footsteps until Keira took a running leap off that canyon ledge and flew directly into the blinding light of the sun.
FIFTEEN
K
eira felt someone watching her as she bubbled to the surface of consciousness. But she wasn't scared or anxious. A deep, soothing sense of well-being warmed her right down to the core. She cracked her lids to peer through her lashes.
White wall. Afternoon light coming from a window somewhere else in the room. She flicked her gaze down. Rich navy blue comforter.
“Thought you'd never wake up. Had to count your freckles twice to keep from prodding you.”
A slow smile lifted her mouth as she turned toward Luke's voice. Then muscles pulled and joints rolled and skin rubbed.
She winced. “Ow.”
He laughed, slid an arm over her middle, and scooted close, pushing one long, warm thigh between hers.
She only turned halfway before she gave up and sank back into the bed. He was propped up on one elbow, looking down with those light eyes, an easy smile on his face. But something hung in the shadows as if he was covering some sort of unease.
Searching her senses, she came up empty on a source and decided to stall the impending, inevitable step back to reality. “How many do I have?”
“Eighty-nine.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “Picked up a few extras in the last three years.”
She glanced around the room with a leisure she hadn't had the first time she'd come in. Everything was exactly the same as she'd first thought, only now the towel they'd dragged from the shower lay on the floor beside the bed, as did all three empty condom wrappers.
“What time is it?” she asked, reluctant to leap back into life, yet already feeling guilty about the amount of time she'd spent away from Mateo.
“Does it matter?”
“I wish it didn't.”
Her eyes followed the swath of light beaming from the window and a memory clicked. Her gaze swung toward the blank wall she'd been looking at when she woke up.
“That's it.” Her stomach plummeted.
“What's what?”
“That's what's missing.” She stared at the spot where the light dissipated into a soft pool, lightening the hardwood two shades. “I knew something was missing as soon as I came in the house, but I couldn't figure out what.” She pushed up, twisted in that direction. “Kat's bed.”
Keira could still see the little girl napping there, the late sun hitting her dark hair and making it shine like patent leather. Could still see the warm glow of her porcelain skin under the light, reminding Keira of a perfect angel.
“Her toys, her books, the crayons she left everywhere.” How many times had Keira stepped on one of the crayons Kat had eternally gripped in her chubby little fist? How many times had she repainted these walls where Kat had gotten creative in a rare moment she wasn't being constantly watched? “That's what's missing.”
Luke didn't immediately respond. He didn't need to. Keira felt the loss streaming through him.
“Guess I've gotten used to it.” But his tone hinted that he'd never get used to it.
A familiar, haunting guilt twisted in Keira's stomach. The stark reality of what Luke must have suffered when he'd given “his princess,” as he'd called her, back to Teague and Alyssa hit her so hard, tears swelled in her eyes.
An inkling of how hard it would be to let go of Mateo edged in.
If he goes back to Greece, he'll die on the streets. If he stays here, DARPA will snatch him from foster care.
“If I can't find Mateo's parents,” she said, “I'll have Mitch start on adoption papers.” Her throat grew tight with a mixture of love for the boy, fear for his future, and anxiety over her own role in that future. “It's going to be complicated and risky. I'll need a ton of false documents. But I won't ever let those DARPA bastards get him.”
Luke nestled his face against the side of her neck, kissed her there, slid his arm across her waist, and squeezed her close. He kissed his way across her shoulder. Under the covers, the hand on her waist slid to the flat of her belly, then lower. “You feel like heaven, baby.”
Keira smiled, groaned at the feel of those long, strong fingers pushing between her legs. “Luke—” She drew out his name. “We don't have any more condoms.”
“We have to.” He pulled her earlobe between his teeth. “I still want you.”
She laughed and pulled his hand into hers, dragging it to her mouth for a kiss. “Are you listening to me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” His thigh slid between hers, pushed high, rocked.
“Lu-uke.” She rolled over, easing him to his back and straddling his hips.
“Hell, yeah.” His hands gripped her hips, his eyes traveled the length of her body, a huge, hot grin slid over his face. And a huge, hot erection rode across her entrance. “Now this . . . baby.
This
is what I'm talking about.”
Tracing the muscles on his abdomen, she felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement coil inside her as she brought up the subject she wanted to get hashed out and behind them so they could relax together. “Do you still have your heart set on that baseball team?”
His eyes darted up from her belly button stud, which his thumb flicked back and forth so it twinkled in the light. “Baseball what?”
“You know, kids. You used to say you wanted enough kids to make your own baseball team.” All she could do was hope she kept the cringe out of her voice when she said, “You were kidding, right?”
His grin turned lopsided, his gaze more playful than devilish. “I'd like to practice for first string, but only draft the first pick, if you know what I mean.”
“Uh, not really. Sounds like you've been hanging around Mitch too much.”
“I'd eat my gun first. It means practice makes perfect. One perfect kid is fine with me.”
Her brows shot up. The tightness in her chest evaporated. “One? You're saying you'd be happy with one child? What happened to the brood you wanted?”
“Kat happened.” He laughed. “After raising that girl for a couple years on my own . . . Man, she about killed me. The tears, the moods. My shoes don't match my dress, my hair's not right, Tiffany's mom brings her lunch every day, I'm too old for daycare, why do you work so much?”
He met her eyes again. “I'd be very happy with one. Boy or girl. Now or later. If we add Mateo to the mix, great. If we find his parents and they're good people and we can return him home, even better.” He slid his hands to her shoulders and pulled her down on top of him, then pressed a sweet, slow kiss to her lips. “As long as I still have you. Everything hinges on that.
You
are the key to the family that means everything to me.”
Her heart skipped, then started again with a hard, but pleasant, kick. One child? Yes, she could do that. She could handle that. She could give him that family he wanted so desperately. Something she'd always wanted, too, but never believed she could have. She closed her eyes and lowered her mouth to his.
His fingers caught her face, her mouth an inch from his. “I love you. So much.”
Surprise popped her eyes open. The words sank in and glowed around her heart, mending all the pains from her past as if Luke had Teague's healing powers.
She lifted her hands overhead, pressed them to the wall, and scooted her body down Luke's, readjusting for the perfect fit.
Who else is in there with them?
The curt female voice pierced the easy white cloud in Keira's head. She gasped.
“What?” Luke looked down the length of their entwined bodies. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, her mind searching. “Wait.”
“Why are you whisper—”
“Shhh.” She put gentle fingers on his mouth. Realization dawned in his eyes.
No one that we can tell.
A man's voice joined the conversation in her head.
Just her and Ransom
.
“Crap.” Keira pushed against Luke's chest and slid off him. “They're here. Outside.”
Luke was out of bed and at the window in fluid, catlike moves. Her own body didn't move quite so easily. Muscles ached and pulled as she stole into the bathroom and retrieved her weapon from the shower.
She moved to Luke's closet, jerked a pair of his jeans from the shelf, and leaned around the doorjamb to toss them on the bed. “Who is it?”
He picked up the pants and stepped into them. “I can't tell. Black SUVs. Two of them.”
“Dargan.” Keira grabbed an ATF sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. Then dragged on sweatpants, tied them at the waist, and rolled the waistband down three times so they didn't swallow her. “I heard her voice.”
“How do you know my voice?” These words didn't ring in her head. They were clear and crisp.
Keira dropped the cotton tee she'd grabbed for Luke, gripped her gun in both hands, and swiveled out of the closet toward the voice. But when she faced the female intruder, she found two males accompanying her, both with guns already pointed at her and Luke.
 
Arms crossed, Jocelyn took in the scene. Luke in nothing but faded jeans, zipped but not buttoned. He could have been the poster boy for Abercrombie and Fitch. Keira, on the other hand, looked like a homeless rag doll, men's clothes hanging off her small frame, her hair tossed, face mottled with bruises and healing cuts.
Far from a homeless rag doll, though, she held that Glock like it was an extension of her arm, and the intensity in her expression stung with a familiarity Jocelyn couldn't quite place. If Keira wanted to, she could put a bullet in the forehead of all three of them before either of her men got off a shot. But she wouldn't. She was a consummate professional. Owen had been right on at least one level. Jocelyn identified with many of the other woman's fierce fighter characteristics.
“So?” Jocelyn asked again, curious. “How do you know my voice?”
“You're not the only ones who tap phones and plant bugs,” Keira said.
A chill rattled Jocelyn's chest. The hunted hunting? Why hadn't she considered that a possibility?
She smiled, then laughed as Keira's cunning came into sharp focus. “Does the FBI know you're misusing resources? Could get you in hot water.”
“Who said I'm using FBI resources?”
“Touché. I suppose with Mitch Foster's connections you wouldn't need the Bureau's toys. You're even sharper than I expected.”
Too bad Keira was on the wrong side of the game. Jocelyn would love to have someone so skilled, so gutsy, on her team. As it was, she didn't doubt that Keira's reputation as a killer shot had her men ready to pee their pants.
“Why don't you put the weapon down so we can have a civilized discussion,” Jocelyn said. “The gun only creates more tension.”
“There's nothing civilized about you or your people. And if you want to see tension, live my life for a few days.”
Jocelyn's gaze cut to Luke, scanned him. A very similar physique to Owen. And judging by Keira's disheveled appearance, equally as primal in bed.
“Luke, you should probably get dressed so we women can think straight. Keira, when you're ready to talk, I'll be in the living room.”
“Scott—” Jocelyn addressed the older of her two men as she turned and started for the door. “You're with me. Davis, holster your weapon and watch Ransom. We're just here to talk.”
In the living room, Jocelyn fingered the photos in her pocket and took a deep breath to loosen her chest. If her judgment of Keira's honor and intelligence was accurate, that calculated risk wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. Not like Tony's had. If it weren't for him, none of this would be happening.
At least that problem had been eliminated.
Jocelyn looked over the single thin bookshelf on the far living room wall housing photos of Ransom's niece, Katrina, and his deceased family members—father from heart attack, mother from cancer, sister, and Teague's first wife, from suicide. A suicide DARPA scientists had surmised stemmed from postpartum depression exacerbated by secondhand exposure to the raw chemicals in that warehouse. The ones her unsuspecting, loving husband, Teague, and her brother, Luke, had dragged home with them.
Oh, the irony. Life was full of irony.
Her own irony came clearly to mind—the way her thoughts flipped between Owen and Jason relentlessly. She reached up to finger the chain around her neck holding the key nestled between her breasts. The key to Jason's safe-deposit box. Then she remembered it was missing, and unease nagged at the edges of her mind. Her memory fought to track her movements from the time she'd opened the envelope to the moment she'd first noticed it missing. Where hadn't she already looked twice?

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