Dirty Deeds (16 page)

"Tell me to stop," Paul murmured against her ear.

* * * *

The dream came again, dark and evil. Chris didn't want to go through it and yet was powerless to make it stop. He tried before to wake up and couldn't. The dream refused to be denied.

The night was dark, the stars sprinkled across the black sky like a thousand sparkling diamonds. The warehouse appeared deserted and traffic on Market Street was almost non-existent. All day his gut instinct had tried to warn him, telling him to look once, twice. He'd ignored it, and the price for his neglect was very high.

Again he walked through the brush, hearing soft swishing noises as he moved. Pine cones were scattered on the ground, and he kicked them out of the way as he walked. He needed to be careful not to step on one and trip. The pine cones were big and hearty this time of year, perfect to cause a turned ankle. Usually he loved the tall pines and their beautiful brown cones. He'd been around the world and on almost every continent. None of the places he visited ever spoke to his heart like Spokane and the majesty Mother Nature had bestowed on the area.

He hated the Medicine Man. People like that sullied this beautiful place with destructive drugs and violence. No more. Not on his watch.

Chris crouched in the brush, his shoulder against the trunk of a pine. He could smell the scent of pitch as he pushed against the tree. He steadied himself as he brought the rifle up and set the scope to his right eye. Once more the feeling of disbelief slammed through his body. It didn't seem possible and yet what he saw, rather who he saw, was right there, big as life.

The sorrow that washed over him was something he hadn't felt since the day his parents were killed in an automobile accident. Snowbirds…both he and Louie worried about the long drive they continued to insist on making. Their worry that one day something terrible would happen came true, and he'd lost a piece of his heart. Now another piece fell away.

His nerves grew taut as he waited, unable to doing anything about what was to come. The dream always ended the same way. The bullet hit his head and whipped his neck back. His body floated through the air toward the ground. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the twinkling stars in the night sky.

"No," he croaked. "No."

Beside his bed, one of the monitors registered the flash of a spike before it settled once more into a steady pattern—blip, blip, blip. The dream over, Chris was grateful for the sleep that took him once more into a place of peaceful silence.

Outside the room at the end of the hall, Kevin Rowe, one of the night shift nurses, stopped and listened. Did he just hear a voice inside the room of Chris Russell? No way. Russell would never come out of the coma. They all knew that. It was just a matter of time before the shell the man lived inside gave up its struggle to hold onto life.

Kevin pushed the door open and stepped inside. Only the glow from the machines around Chris' bed broke up the shadowy darkness. Kevin stepped to the bed and looked down. No, Chris looked as he always did: thin, pale and serene. The monitors gave no sign of anything unusual, just their normal steady rhythm.

Kevin figured he'd been hearing things. Wouldn't be the first time. The night shift had its own set of challenges like phantom sounds and, in his opinion, lingering souls. So many came here rolled in on a bed and rolled out in a body bag. He couldn't remember when someone had left for the last time sitting in a wheelchair.
Oh well, probably not in my lifetime.
Kevin turned and walked out, pulling the door closed behind him just as a single tear slid down Chris' cheek.

* * * *

Louie turned so she could tip her face up to Paul's. She couldn't read his expression in the darkness. She could, however, feel his need pressed against her. It was raw, it was intense, and it was very real. He paused for a heartbeat before he lowered her onto the blanket and stretched out beside her. His hand slipped beneath her jacket, beneath her shirt, and her breath caught as his hand cupped her breast, his fingers teasing the nipple to hardness.

"Don't." She pressed her lips against his, whispering. "Don't stop."

Overwhelming need rushed through her body, but why? She could blame on too many years of celibacy, of denying her body's need for release, but that would be a lie. It wasn't a case of a body too long denied the touch of a man. No, it was much deeper than that. It was her need for this man, and this man alone. She wanted to taste him, to run her hands through his glorious red hair, to feel him inside her. From the first innocent touch, she'd known somewhere deep inside she had to have more.

His nearness fanned a slow heat into glorious flame.

"Are we crazy?" His fingers teased her nipples and she rose to his touch.

Louie put her hands on both sides of his face. "Maybe. Probably." Her eyes, grown accustomed to the darkness, could dimly see the strong lines of his face and his heavy lidded eyes.

"I don't remember ever feeling like this." His confession was whispered against her throat as his tongue seared a hot path down her soft skin. Hot shivery thrills rolled through her like ocean waves.

Neither did she, but she was afraid to put it into words. Maybe it was the magic of the full moon casting a creamy glow through the canopy of the pine trees. Maybe it was clear air carrying the fresh scents of nature. Or maybe it was desperation. Whatever it was, for this moment she'd take it in both hands and let it carry her away. For this moment, she'd forget the rest of the world and do something crazy—and wonderful.

Under the cover of darkness, the black sky sprinkled with the tiny lights of a million stars, and surrounded by thick brush and forest, they stood and slipped out of their clothes. She shivered as cool air kissed her skin but it wasn't the cold that made her quiver. It was the sight of his body in the light of full moon. Pale skin, broad muscled shoulders, a flat stomach. It took her breath away.

He held out a hand and she took it. Gently, he helped her lay back down onto the blanket. Then slowly, he pulled the second blanket over them, capturing the heat of bodies beneath. He brushed the hair from her face and their eyes met.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured as his lips pressed to hers.

At first the kiss was light but it didn't stay that way long. Her tongue met his in a dance that filled her with desire. Beneath the single blanket, her hands explored the strong lines of his back, the fine hair on his chest, the strong muscles of a toned athlete, his hard cock. It was heaven.

His hands touched and stroked her, moving from her breasts to her stomach and slipping between her legs to find her wet and wanting. Her hips lifted into his touch.

She stroked him, the smooth feel of his shaft against the palm of her hand fantastic. He groaned as her hand glided up and down. Did he taste as good as he felt? It was question she'd love to answer but not right now.

Instead, with his cock in her hand, she guided him between her legs, a groan escaping her throat as he slipped into her, first moving gently, testing how much she could take. Then, with a strong thrust, he was fully inside. Her hands cupped his buttocks and she pulled him closer trying to feel as much him as she could.

He fit her as perfectly as if they were made for each other. The sensation was wondrous and once more she thought of magic. Except how could it be? She was a careful woman, one not given to flights of fancy or casual hook-ups, and yet it was almost like coming home.

"You feel like heaven," he rasped against her skin, his hot breath washing over her.

As he moved inside her, coaxing her slowly to the peak of pleasure, she met his eyes. This was no hook-up. Sex was a great thing, a needed thing, and this was so much more than sex. Deep in her soul that acknowledgement brought tears to her eyes, and fear to her heart.

Even so, she held him tighter, moving with him as he thrust into her with building force. She wanted it to go on forever, the touch, and feel of this man who was almost a stranger, and at the same time, a soul she felt as though she'd known for eternity.

He pressed his lips to hers. "Hold on, angel, just hold on." His whisper was ragged.

She wanted to. She wanted to hold on to the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her with delicious, wet strokes. She couldn't. In a blinding rush of sensation, Louie came, her cry muffled as he covered her mouth, his tongue hot and probing.

A second later his body tensed and then shuddered. As the climax passed, he stilled and rolled to lie beside her, his breathing jerky. He put his arms around her and pulled her close to his hot body.

This was the craziest thing she'd ever done. Leaning her head against his chest, she closed her eyes, breathed in his earthy scent, and decided it was also the most perfect thing she'd ever done.

His panting breaths calmed, evened. A light breeze swished through the underbrush, and the hoot of an owl drifted through the night air.

"That was incredible," he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek.

She smiled in the darkness. "Yeah, it was."

Chapter Ten

Jamie's eyes snapped open. At first he couldn't remember where he was. Then it all rushed back, sending a knot to the pit of his stomach. The crappy mattress beneath him was better than last night's rocky ground under the bridge, though not by much. The pillows, little more than thick cardboard, left his neck aching. He felt old and weary. Probably looked like crap too.

Rolling to his side, Jamie looked at the gap in the curtains on the window. It was still dark outside, and the face of the digital clock read three. Not bad, all things considered. He'd managed to snag a few hours sleep and still had enough time to shower before he was to meet Scott. He'd soon cross the border for safety in Canada, where there were plenty of places to hide in the north where they wouldn't come looking for him. Thanks to Dad and his insistence on summer days in the mountains, Jamie had no hesitation about spending some quality time there now.

He got up from the bed, stretched his arms above his head and tried to smooth out the kinks. The face that looked back at him from the mirror was almost unrecognizable. His skin was always pale; it went along with the red hair both he and Paul inherited from their Scottish ancestors. Tonight, or rather this morning, he was well beyond pale. There didn't seem to be a drop of blood in his complexion, and he wondered if this was how dead people looked. The thought sent a chill up his back as though his thoughts were somehow indicative of things to come.

Despite the fact he'd gotten himself into the mother of all bad situations, it didn't mean he was ready to die even though he already missed Kendall. He'd see her again one day—he hoped. God would forgive him, wouldn't he?

He turned away from the mirror. On the scratched and dented table that served as a desk were several pieces of stationery, the edges curled, and a pen that no longer had a cap. Anxious as he was to get on the road, he sat down at the desk and picked up the pen. He glanced over at the mirror, staring for a long minute at his deathly complexion. His green eyes were huge and ringed with dark circles. His face reminded him of the bad vampire makeup he'd sported at a long ago Halloween party. Wasn't his best look back then, made him look like shit now. Hopefully it wouldn't draw unnecessary attention from the border patrol. He'd have to come up with a plausible story like a bad case of the flu.

He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the blank paper. Paul always pissed him off with his good looks, natural athletic abilities, and success. Jamie never intended to be a screw-up. He'd dreamed of just the opposite; he wanted to be everything Paul had been. Jamie had really wanted his brother to be proud of him.

His earliest memories centered around an ice rink, skates, and the idea that one day he'd would be in the NHL. Dreams aside, all he could remember hearing were comments like "too bad he's not more like his brother" or "he'll never be the player Paul is." By the time Jamie was ten, he'd abandoned his dreams and stopped trying. He'd learned early he could never live up to his big brother, so why even make the effort?

Don't even get him started on love. Who even bothered to look at Jamie when Paul was around? Jamie was good-looking, but just wasn't Paul. And the worst part—Paul never seemed to care. He'd been oblivious to all the attention while Jamie had been defeated. Paul didn't work for a date in his entire life while Jamie was forced to fight for every scrap of attention he got. His only real success, the only time he dared to be himself, was with Kendall. Poor, dead Kendall. He was a loser all over again.

Tapping the pen against the paper, He thought about what he wanted to write. As angry as he was with Paul, Jamie worried about the what-ifs. He was confident once he was across the border, he'd find safety in the anonymity afforded by the Northwest Territories. What worried him was the possibility something would go wrong because honestly, more often than not it did for him. Paul could take care of himself. Jamie worried more about the folks. Mom and Dad had stood by him time and time again, when they should've walked away. Anybody else would have dropped him, just like Paul did. Not their parents, who'd been there again and again and again. Jamie owed them everything and if something did go wrong, he'd need to make amends. Only one way to do that.

He leaned his head down and began to write. An hour later, he stopped by the front desk and asked the clerk to mail the letter. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Rolling the very heavy motorcycle tire, Jamie walked the half mile from the motel to the egg company where he found Scott busy loading his trailer for the early morning run north.

His arms screamed with pain by the time he hefted the wheel and tire to the trailer. He rubbed them as he sat in the tractor and listened to the rumble of the Freightliner's engine. Soon, he'd be on the powerful motorcycle headed for safety.

* * * *

Louie woke up alone and wondered first, how long she'd been asleep, and second, how long she'd been alone. Even on the hard ground, the cold night air all around, she'd drifted off into a warm and comforting sleep. She hadn't meant to. After all, they were here to work even if making love on the forest floor made it look otherwise. She didn't have to delve deep to figure out why she drifted off. For the first time in many long years, she'd been relaxed and comfortable. It wasn't that she'd been a nun forever, but she'd be the first to admit it had been a long dry spell.