Face of Danger (21 page)

Mercedes touched the wall and soft running lights guided them.

“Cara built this for me,” she said quietly as they walked the same path Vivi and Lang had followed. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t ever go outside.” She turned to Vivi. “So I wasn’t shooting at you. As for my condition, I can provide the medical records to prove it.”

At the hitch in a voice that never neared vulnerable under normal circumstances, Vivi softened her expression. “But someone came in my room and took the dog.”

“Mr. Lang?”

“He was with me,” Vivi said, realizing what she had to reveal. “In the bathroom.”

She felt Special Agent Iverson’s eyes on her and a slow heat rise to her face. Mercedes, however, didn’t seemed to think anything was odd about that.

“The dog knows her way around the house, and she probably left your room.”

“And got outside?”

Mercedes shook her head. “She’s wily, I told you.
Without sedatives, she burrows and digs. Probably found her way out and—”

“The dog didn’t shoot me!” Vivi said, frustration rising as they reached the part of the tunnel where it became little more than a drainage ditch. “And do you know that hole right there connects with the bog house?”

Mercedes bit her lip. “It’s unfinished. Cara was going to add to the tunnel so I could get down there.”

“Why do you need to get down there?” Iverson asked.

Mercedes inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Because I would like to visit the house again. And the bog.”

She certainly sounded genuine, but Vivi was still skeptical. They finished the tunnel tour and left Mercedes, returning to Vivi’s room.

“I can’t leave you,” Agent Iverson said. “But I’ll sit in the bedroom while you shower, if you like.”

Of course, she was filthy. But could she go back into that bathroom? The scene where she and Lang had kissed and touched and talked?

And she’d turned him down, like the world’s biggest idiot.

Instead, she grabbed a pair of jeans and gestured to the next room. Lang’s room.

“I don’t want to be in here,” she said, not offering any more explanation. She didn’t have to; Sarah Iverson was a smart agent and she had no doubt put two and two together and come up with… some rules being broken.

After her shower, Vivi grabbed a soft white undershirt from the open duffel bag in Lang’s bathroom, inhaling whatever nice detergent he used before slipping it over her head. In the room, Agent Iverson was on her cell phone, but hung up when Vivi came out.

“They’re giving up the search soon,” she said. “They didn’t find anyone. Mr. Lang will be up here shortly, if you want me to go back to your room with you.”

“I’ll stay here,” Vivi said, curling up on the sofa next to Stella, who loped across the cushions and threw her head on Vivi’s leg. “Oh, finally, you like me. Only took saving your life.”

Across the room, in a club chair, Agent Iverson smiled. “So how well do you know Mr. Lang?” she asked.

Not as well as I’d like to.
“We’ve worked together on a few projects.” Vivi petted the dog, who at least had the dignity to stop growling at her now that her life had been saved. “How about you?”

“I’ve been in the Boston office for seven years.”

So did that mean she knew him well? Vivi tried to decipher the woman’s expression, but the seasoned agent gave no tells. “Have you worked a lot of cases with him?” Vivi asked.

“Some. I was in the same class with Jennifer.”

Her stomach tightened at the way she said Jennifer. Like, of course, Vivi would know who that was. Lang’s words were burned in her brain, about the backup who took a deadly risk.

She didn’t have anything I didn’t like.

“She was his partner, right?” Vivi ventured.

That earned a soft, maybe a little sarcastic, chuckle from the agent. “Define ‘partner.’ They hadn’t gone public with their plans, but Jenn was just waiting for a transfer out of his department so they could announce their engagement—”

“Out!”

Both women flinched at the command, issued by Lang at the door.

Vivi was still processing
engagement
, but Agent Iverson jumped to the order and so did the dog, practically launching herself into Lang’s arms like he’d saved her instead of Vivi.

The agent gathered her phone, weapon, and jacket. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked Vivi.

She had been okay—before the engagement bomb was dropped. “Fine. Thanks again.”

“Good night, Ms. Iverson,” Lang said pointedly, waiting by the door until she left.

Then he closed it, flipped the lock, and placed his weapon on the dresser near the door. Wordlessly, he shook off a jacket that someone must have brought to him, still shirtless and in sleep pants underneath. His arms and chest were scraped from the branches; smudges of dirt clung to sweaty muscles.

Vivi tried not to stare and failed miserably. “So, anything?” she asked.

He kicked off his sneakers. “Got some bullets for ballistics, a few footprints which could be anyone or anything, but no shooter.”

“I talked to Mercedes,” she said, sitting up a little. “She claims she was asleep in her room.”

“
Claims
being the operative word.” His voice was tight with something that sounded like anger. Probably frustration, too, after a fruitless search.

“She took me to the tunnels, but didn’t show me anything we didn’t already know. She says Cara built them for her because she can’t go outside. And she swears she didn’t come in here and take the dog.”

“Someone did.” He still hadn’t really looked at her, Vivi realized, although she’d been staring at him since he’d walked into the room. Lang crouched to give Stella
an affectionate scratch and something beyond immature and jealous inside of Vivi wanted to scream “Hey, what about me!” but she didn’t.

“I take it your gut says what mine does and this shooter has to do with Roman Emmanuel,” she said instead. “Or do you think that was possibly some nutcase who kills Oscar winners?”

“Taking shots at you just doesn’t seem to fit the MO of a so-called Red Carpet Killer.”

She rubbed her arms. “I have to admit I feel pretty vulnerable here.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re going to Boston tomorrow.” He finally looked at her.

“To get Uncle Nino?” she asked hopefully.

“I told you to forget that,” he said, striding into the bathroom without closing the door. “It’s not safe enough here for him. It’s not safe enough for
you
.”

She heard the water running in the sink.

“Are you making me leave for good?” When he didn’t answer, she got up and walked to the bathroom, standing in the doorway to watch him stick his whole head under the faucet. “What about the evidence we’ve been asked to find, Lang?”

“We’ll come back.” He turned his head, soaping his face and neck. “I just want to get you out of here for a day while some other agents scour the property by light of day. We’re missing something.”

She didn’t argue; she could use a break from this house. “Why don’t you just take a shower?”

“Can’t.” He stood up and gave his head a shake that would have made Stella proud. “Unless you stand there and watch.”

Fire licked through her belly. “That can be arranged.”

He froze in the act of grabbing the towel, his gaze dropping over the T-shirt and jeans. “Why are you in here and not your room?”

“I just wanted to be close to you.”

He still didn’t dry his face, but just looked at her as droplets sluiced over cheeks that hadn’t seen their usual razor in a long time. “Why?”

“I just wanted to be close to the man who saved my life.”

“What do you mean by close?”

She wet her lips, ignored her thumping heart. “As close as we can get.”

He stepped toward her, eyes burning green-gold in the dim light. “One brush with death and you change your mind?”

“I’ve had some time to think,” she said slowly. “And I… I decided that maybe… you were right.”

He studied her for a long minute, heat and sweat and something wildly intoxicating rolling off him. The scent of sex.

“I thought you were shot,” he said gruffly. “For like the third time in two days, I fucking thought you were dead.”

“I bet you were mad.”

“Mad?” He slapped his hands on the doorjamb, his chest inches from her, his biceps tense like he could break the molding off the doorway if he wanted to. “Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it. Why the hell don’t you stay put when I tell you to stay put?”

“I heard the dog. Anyway, he could have shot me there, too.”

“You could have been killed, Vivi.”

“Tell me something I haven’t figured out while I was trapped up here like Rapunzel with the girl guard while all the guys looked for the perp.”

He grunted, animal like, pure frustration. “All the
guys
are FBI agents, armed and trained and willing to die for you.”

She’d never win that one. “I saved your dog, didn’t I?”

“She’s not mine.” He let his hands fall and land on her shoulders, plucking at the T-shirt. “But this is.”

“I borrowed it.”

“Take it off.”

Her knees actually buckled at the order. “You want it back?”

“I want it off.”

And, dear God, she wanted to take it off. Deep inside, an ache twisted. Lusty and low, superseding everything else.

She stared at him, taking a few steps backward into the room, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

His eyes went smoky. “Good. Keep thinking about me.” He walked her backward until she reached the bed. No smile on his face, no humor in his eyes. Dead serious, pure Lang. “Think about me while you take off my shirt.”

She sat when her knees hit the bed, fingering the bottom of the T-shirt as she looked up at him. “I have to say something first. I have one… rule.”

He lifted his brow. “You follow rules now?”

She had to feel… safe, or she couldn’t do this. That was her only stipulation. She had to know she had an
escape if her brain betrayed her body and freaked out. “If I say stop, you stop.”

“Here’s my rule.” He pressed knees against the bed, holding hers between his as he eased her backward. “You shouldn’t say
go
if you’re gonna say
stop
.”

Her gaze slipping to his sleep pants, the tent even bigger than it was before, the tip of his hard-on already straining the waistband. Her throat went dry. “If I did say stop, like if I
had
to…” she whispered. “I just want you to know it’s not because I’m teasing you. It’s just because… I changed my mind.”

He braced himself over her, all muscle and man, hard and ready. Her whole body liquefied with want. She fell back on the bed, unable to fight the need to writhe against him and release the pressure that was building between her legs.

“If you change your mind, let me know. Until then, take my shirt off.”

With shaky fingers, she lifted the cotton hem, watching his eyes move down to devour the sight. She revealed her stomach, her ribs, her breasts. His jaw loosened, his pupils darkened, his breath slowed to a ragged pull.

“All the way,” he said.

She slipped it over her head, dragging the long, damp hair through, unintentionally making the extensions fan out next to her face. She held the undershirt up in one hand.

“Here’s your shirt, Lang.”

He took it and threw it across the room. “Now the jeans.”

“Oh, God.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at her tone.

What was the matter? What could she tell him? That she’d never… No, if she told him to stop, he’d stop. But she also knew he’d demand to know what she’d refuse to tell.

“What is it, Vivi?”

“Ummm… I forgot to wear underpants.”

That made one side of his mouth hitch up with sexy interest. “Yeah? Let me see.”

She reached for the jeans snap, popped it, and unzipped, never taking her eyes from his.

But he looked down, inhaling slowly as she pushed the jeans down, slowly lifting her hips to help her reveal everything to him.

Everything
.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous.” He barely breathed the words, and they obliterated every argument threatening to make an appearance in her head.

He dragged the jeans off her body and tossed them with the shirt.

Then she lay completely naked before him, barely able to take the next breath. Could he hear her heart clobbering her chest? Could he hear the blood rushing through her? Could he possibly know what this meant to her?

“So why’d you change your mind?” he asked, kneeling above her, burning every inch with his eyes, splaying his fingers over her body, like a maestro about to play.

“I haven’t, yet.”

“I mean about sex. A few hours ago you said you were morally opposed to friends with benefits. Now you’re pretty friendly.”

“The friend saved my life.”

His hands came down and closed over her fists, which,
she only realized then, were clutching the comforter. “I don’t need you to reward me.”

“I’m not rewarding you.”

His eyes grew smoky as he took another slow trip over every inch of her. “Then what are you doing?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” Like sixteen years. “So please kiss me. Please.”

“I will.” He almost smiled, his eyes tapering. “I’m trying to decide where to start.”

She closed her eyes. “Anywhere you want.”

He lowered his head to her mouth, but skimmed away before they made contact, blowing soft air over her throat, collarbone, her cleavage. His tongue flicked over her breast, and she sucked in a breath, but he moved south, a kiss on her stomach, a brush of lips over the scar of her gunshot wound, navel, the scrape of his cheek right on her pelvic bone.

She let go of the comforter, moved her hands to his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “This is where I want to start.”

Yes. Oh, God, yes.
This.

He blew on her first, like he was warming her up, getting her ready. She bowed her back, whispered his name, and braced for impact.

His tongue was surprisingly cool against the heat of her flesh, but powerful and unrelenting. He sucked and licked, the sensation of his mouth against her making her groan with abandon.