Drawn in Blood (9 page)

Sloane believes her father’s innocent of whatever wrongdoing he presented to her, be it real or fabricated. She also believes he’s in danger. She’s hired security to watch both her parents. I checked that out. And if Burbank’s lying, if he is involved with the Red Dragons, then it’s not just him and his wife who are in danger. It’s Sloane, too. So I might not be objective, but I’ve got a hel of an incentive. Which makes me the best lead agent on this case.”

Tony contemplated Derek’s argument, then nodded. “If I didn’t know Sloane so wel professional y, I’d say your argument’s thin. I’d say she’s an attorney acting in the best interests of her client, and that that client happens to be her father—which gives her twice the motivation to protect him from prosecution if he committed murder. But I do know Sloane. I mentored her during her hostage negotiation training in Quantico. I know how ethical she is. And, coming from me, that’s objective. I’m not the one who’s in love with her. So, fine, you’re the lead agent on the case. Now solve it.”

The one thing Derek hadn’t approached Tony with was how much of the FBI’s need-to-know policy stil applied to Sloane. She wasn’t currently a Bureau employee, but she had been and she would be again. She also consulted for them on a case-by-case basis, and had retained al her old contacts.

Talk about a gray area.

Derek leaned back against the cushion of the living room sofa in Sloane’s cottage, and contemplated that delicate matter, rol ing his goblet of merlot between his palms.

Being here alone felt more comfortable than he’d expected. Not that he was real y alone, he noted with a grin, glancing down at the three hounds who were sprawled around him, snoozing. He’d picked them up, along with the last of his bags, around six and driven straight to the cottage. Sloane was finishing up with a midtown client, dropping by her parents’

apartment, and then heading home.

That had given Derek time to grab a snack, run the hounds, and do a little unpacking. Now he was relaxing with a glass of wine and a couple of takeout menus. Even though he was stil mul ing over the day’s events, he could do so in a quieter, less frenetic manner while deciding between Chinese and Thai food. Sloane loved both.

Half and half, he decided. An eclectic Asian meal for their first night official y living together.

Asian. How ironic.

The telephone rang, and Derek reached over to get it. “Hel o?”

There was a long, awkward pause at the other end of the receiver before a man’s guarded voice replied, “Hel o. This must be Derek.”

“It is. And you are…?”

“Leo Fox.” The guardedness remained as he identified himself, and Derek knew just why. He was wel aware of who Leo Fox was.

“Yes, Mr. Fox, what can I do for you?” Derek had no intention of tipping his hand.

“I don’t know if Sloane’s mentioned me,” Leo continued tentatively. “I’m a friend of her father’s. I’m also an interior designer.”

“Oh, sure, of course. You’re the magician who’s going to transform this cottage so it doesn’t scream out only feminine and canine.” Leo chuckled, his relief so acute that Derek almost pitied him. “So Sloane did tel you about my offer. I was afraid she’d think I’d just made it out of obligation, given how far back her father and I go. I wanted her to know it wasn’t lip service. I real y do want to help you two settle in as a couple.”

“Wel , I appreciate that, and grateful y accept. Sloane’s got great taste, but this place is designed for her, not us.”

“Of course. You need to feel comfortable, make it so you can cal the cottage home.” A pause. “I remember the layout of the house, but I haven’t been there in years. Nor have I seen the decor since Sloane moved in. I’d like to set up an appointment to drive out there when both you and Sloane are home. I can look the place over and also talk to you, get to know who you are, so I can give the right flavor to my design, and the right blend of your tastes and Sloane’s.” Derek felt his lips quirk. “Makes sense. The only problem is Sloane’s not home yet. But I expect her soon. Can she give you a cal tomorrow? That’l give us a chance to coordinate our schedules before she sets up an appointment with you to visit the cottage and work your magic.”

“Of course.” At this point, Leo sounded almost relaxed. “I’l be in my office al day tomorrow. I’m real y looking forward to this project.”

“So am I.” As he spoke, Derek heard the faint crunching sound of tires on gravel from outside. Sloane must be home. “Thank you again, Mr. Fox.”

“Please—Leo.”

“Leo,” Derek amended. “I’l talk to Sloane tonight.”

“Excel ent. You have a nice evening.”

“Same to you.” Derek hung up the phone just as the hounds heard Sloane’s key in the door and sprang to life, jumping off the sofa and scrambling toward the front hal .

Derek rose as wel , setting down his glass of wine and watching as Sloane came in, dropped her briefcase and coat, and squatted down to greet the three elated dachshunds.

No matter what else was going on—even if his workday had been a nightmare, if he was dead on his feet, or if he was under massive pressure; even when the two of them weren’t on speaking terms, when she frustrated the hel out of him, or when they were so at odds he wanted to punch a hole in the wal —she always had the same effect on him. One look at her and he wanted her.

“Hi, my little jumping beans,” she was saying to the hounds now, affectionately scratching their ears. “What a wonderful welcome.”

“I can provide an equal y wonderful welcome,” Derek offered, his tone half teasing, half seductive. As he spoke, he made his way over to her. “I’m just afraid of getting mowed down if I try to beat these three to the door.”

Sloane rose, her eyes glinting and a warm flush starting to tinge her cheeks. The fire between them was mutual. And she was just as attuned to him as he was to her. “Be daring. From you, I’m up for a different type of welcome home.”

“I like the sound of that.” Derek wrapped his arms around her, pul ing her against him. “And I like the sound of the word ‘home.’ It feels right.”

“You feel right, too.” Sloane slid her hands under his sweater, hiking it up as she did.

Derek yanked it off and tossed it aside, then helped Sloane unbutton her blouse, which he dragged off with her blazer.

“Which room should we initiate first?” he asked, unhooking her bra and letting it drop to the floor.

“That’s a tough one.” She wriggled out of her slacks, kicked them aside, and stood there in only a thong. “I think we’ve already initiated them al —several times over.”

“Then how about right here?” He lifted her onto the hal table, shedding the rest of his clothes, and stripping off her thong in a few hot, fast motions. He moved between her legs, pushing her thighs apart, and wedging himself between them.

“Here is good.” Sloane’s voice was breathless, and her eyes held that familiar, smoky hunger that drove him crazy. She leaned forward and reached for him. “In fact, here is great.” Her words ended in an aroused whimper, as Derek reached under her, gripping her bottom and lifting her against him.

“No foreplay?” she managed, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing her body against his.

“Not this time.” He angled her, his erection nudging her, pushing slightly inside to see how ready she was.

She was more than ready for him.

He thrust al the way in and then some, simultaneously taking her mouth in an al -consuming kiss. His tongue mimicked the motions of his hips, plunging, stroking, retreating, again and again, and she held on, meeting him kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke.

It was over before either of them could think of prolonging it. Sloane came in hard, racking spasms. Derek spurted into her, each clench of her body milking his, drawing out his orgasm as he instinctively timed it to match hers.

An exquisite peak, and an equal y exquisite plummet.

With a soft moan, Sloane went limp, her head dropping forward until her forehead was resting against Derek’s chest.

“Wow,” she said in broken pants. “Quite an initiation.”

“Just a prelude.” Derek’s ability to speak wasn’t much better.

“Your heart’s racing.”

“Your legs are quivering” was his hoarse reply.

She nodded against his damp skin. “I don’t think I can walk. Or stand.”

“Then don’t.” He lifted her, his body stil lodged inside hers, and carried her toward the living room. “We’ve got a lot more initiating to do.” It was hours later when they lay draped across each other in Sloane’s bed, replete with that utter, bone-melting peace that was the result of one of their marathon lovemaking sessions.

“Did I miss any rooms?” Derek muttered into her hair.

Sloane’s lips curved. “Definitely not. You were very thorough. We covered every room in the house—even the laundry room. Making love on a washer and dryer—that’s one I never thought of.”

“You loved it. You came twice.”

“No arguments. I’l just never be able to think of it as a laundry room again. Guess you’l be doing the wash from now on.”

“Touché.” Derek chuckled.

“I’m starved,” Sloane announced.

“Me, too. I was about to order a combo dinner—Thai and Chinese—when you walked in. Once that happened, al I wanted was this.”

“I don’t blame you. It was my first choice as wel .”

“But now that I’ve worn you out, you’d like some sustenance.”

“Exactly.” Sloane eyed him with a wry expression. “And wipe that smug grin off your face. I gave as good as I got. You look like a train wreck.”

“True.” Derek wasn’t the least bit put off. “I feel like I was hit by an eighteen-wheeler, even though it came in a very smal and sexy package. As for the Thai and Chinese, I could eat everything on both menus.”

Sloane sat up, squinting at the clock. “Wel , we’d better hurry. We’l get in just under the wire. The restaurants here close by nine. Ten if you’re lucky.” She gave Derek a playful poke as she reached for the phone. “Get used to the country, city boy. This isn’t Manhattan. No twenty-four/seven food.”

“It’s worth the sacrifice. The perks are good.”

Forty minutes later, Derek returned with their food. They ate in bed, right out of the cartons. The hounds, having been fed and taken out, were clustered around them, nibbling on their own treats.

“If we make a ritual out of this initiation process, I’l never have the strength to work,” Sloane commented between bites.

“Right.” Derek was shoveling in mouthfuls of General Tsao’s chicken, having long since abandoned his slower and more cumbersome chopsticks in favor of a fork. “Like anything could keep you from working.”

Sloane considered that, and nodded. “Good point. Although I kind of like being a part-time sex goddess. But, the rest of the time—watching soaps and reading
Home and
Garden
wouldn’t do it for me.”

The unlikely description was amusing. But it also made Derek remember a subject he was eager to broach.

“Speaking of
Home and Garden
, Leo Fox cal ed just before you got home. He asked if you’d cal him back tomorrow. He wants to set up an appointment to come over and check out the cottage—and me.” Derek’s lips quirked again at the memory. “I think he’s trying to get a handle on my aura so he can do justice to our new, unified decor.”

“That’s Leo,” Sloane acknowledged with a twinkle in her eye. “An artist through and through. But he is incredibly talented. You’l like what he comes up with.” A pause as she tapped her fork against her lips. “Let’s see. He’l probably start with a sign on the front door saying ‘Rangers Lead the Way.’ Then he’l add a vintage G.I. Joe col ection on the coffee table. Oh, and let’s not forget a wal -to-wal ruler on the floor of your half of the bedroom closet, to make sure your shoes are lined up just so and with equal space between pairs.”

“Yeah, but how is he going to incorporate that with a bathroom overflowing with hair-care products, file cabinets that are about to explode at the seams, and a lifetime’s col ection of bows and arrows that would put Robin Hood to shame and that takes up half the guest room?” Derek countered.

“Are you suggesting I’m a slob?”

“Nope. I’m suggesting you’re a pack rat. I’m a minimalist. It should be interesting to see how Leo melds the two.” Derek set his empty carton down on the night table and leaned back against the headboard, interlacing his fingers behind his head and studying Sloane. “Leo sounded nervous when I answered the phone. My voice must be a lot more intimidating than I realize, because he was definitely edgy, and he doesn’t seem like the introverted type.”

Sloane shrugged, polishing off her shrimp in black bean sauce. “Maybe having you answer the phone caught him off guard. It is a little awkward, talking to a live-in boyfriend you’ve never met.”

“Maybe. Although artists are usual y the most open-minded people in the world.” Derek’s gaze was steady, and there was no longer any banter in his tone. “So there’s no other reason I’d make him uncomfortable?”

“None that I can think of. Unless you made an aura joke. That would offend him. He takes his craft very seriously.”

“Nope. No aura jokes. Just Special Agent Derek Parker, being himself.”

The comment was too pointed for Sloane to ignore.

She raised her head and met his gaze. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

“Dozens of somethings. But I respect your position. So I’l get my own answers—for now.”

“What kind of answers?” Sloane demanded. “And why are you gril ing me about Leo?”

“You’re way too intel igent not to have figured that out.”

Sloane sucked in her breath. “If you honestly believe this is part of a bigger picture…”

“I do.”

“And if that bigger picture causes you to worry about my safety…”

“It does.”

“Then don’t I deserve some kind of explanation—some forewarning?”

“Yes—unless you plan on sharing it with your father.”

A weighty pause.

“I won’t,” Sloane replied at last. “Not unless it puts him at risk, either legal y or physical y.”

“Ah. Therein lies the rub. I can’t promise you that unless you tel me what you know. And you can’t tel me what you know unless I promise you that. A catch-22, if ever there was one.”