Hunting (12 page)

Malachi ignored the clerk’s
startled expression as he handed over the Bureau credit card. Five
minutes later he pushed open the room door and waved the little
shrew inside. “After you, my dear.”

She dropped her bag on the
bed, claiming the mattress with a challenging look. He felt his
blood heat as he fought the response to that challenge. Julia
Bellows would always get a rise out of him, at times literally.
He’d accepted that fact on the plane. And with a bed nearby, why
wouldn’t the lust he felt for the damned woman increase?

“
I’m going to shower, then
go to bed. I have a big day tomorrow.”

“
What about your job?” he
asked as she pulled a jersey and shorts out of her bag.

“
What about it?”

“
What are you going to do
with her when you’re out of town for days on end?”

“
I’ve made arrangements
with both Hell and Eddie.”

“
What sort of
arrangements?” Malachi ignored the irritation that hit him every
time she called the director Eddie. He blocked her path to the
bathroom, crossing his arms and daring her to try to get past him.
She was so tense she’d probably split in two if he snapped his
fingers loud enough. Maybe that’s what he should aim
for?

“
I’m not going in the field
anymore. Victims will be transported directly to St. Louis for me
and my team to autopsy at PAVAD. I’m getting two more assistants.
On the rare occasions I have to be gone, Eddie and Marianna have
agreed to babysit.” She feinted to the left before twisting to
circle his right side. Quick.

“
I see.” It was what he’d
wanted; Malachi acknowledged that silently after she’d darted
around him. He didn’t think she belonged in the field. He strongly
suspected she was still too emotionally vulnerable. And to be
honest, after seeing that video of Byrum targeting her for no good
reason, he wanted Julia where she would be completely safe. He knew
that wasn’t his right, but dammit, he wanted the woman safe. Was
that so wrong? If he could just keep one woman he cared about safe,
why wouldn’t he?

He stretched out on the bed
after kicking off his shoes and changing into shorts of his own. He
was not sleeping on that couch—he would never fit on it. She’d fit
on it perfectly. If she didn’t like it, too bad. Where he slept was
the one thing he would not compromise on.

“
Uh, I don’t think so,
Apezilla.” He opened his eyes to see her standing beside the bed,
hands on narrow hips, and glaring down at him. Her hair was down
around her shoulders and her face completely washed. Beautiful.
Snippy, but beautiful. “I’m taking the bed.”

“
Nope. You’re taking the
couch. I’m the senior agent, plus I’m just damned bigger. Ergo, I
get the bigger sleeping area. Non-negotiable. Unless you’d like to
share?” He arched a brow, rewarded when the sneer once again hit
her face. Why did he find that expression so damned endearing at
times? “I don’t snore, if you recall.”

“
You really are an ape.”
She stared at him a moment and he grinned at her. She shocked the
hell out of him by hopping over him lightly. Her knee hit his ribs
as she landed. He grunted. Her knee bone was sharp. “I always sleep
on the left side of the bed. Try to stay on your side; think you
can handle that? And this…stays between us. I’d like people to
think I have some taste, after all. I don’t just climb into bed
with anyone, you know.”

Malachi wondered if his
shock was visible for her to see. Little wench. She’d done to shock
him. She curled up, tucking her knees between them. He reached down
and grabbed one knee, pushing it toward the foot of the bed. “Your
knees are on my side.”

“
No, they’re not. But if
they were, you’d just have to deal with it.” Her knee returned to
its original position, this time slipping just a bit higher—coming
dangerously close to his groin. He hissed and she laughed wickedly.
A full, sexy laugh that had that groin tightening, fast.
“Scared?”

Malachi felt a surge of
both irritation and humor hit him. This woman…this woman drove him
batshit crazy. And probably always would. Her knee moved higher,
and he reacted. Before she could find out just how she’d affected
him.

His fingers wrapped around
the offending joint and he flipped her. Straight to her back. She
was so damned lightweight he was surprised it took even half as
much effort as it did. “Dammit, woman! I’d like children of my own
someday. Keep that up and you’ll be playing doctor down
there!”

“
Not likely. I’d let you
suffer. Suffer horribly.” She pushed against him, a sudden
awareness and wariness in her eyes that he hadn’t expected. “Get
off!”

“
Oh, I wish. Oh, I so, so
wish.” He put his forehead against hers, and those pretty, pretty
eyes of hers widened. Her breath stuttered. So she did feel it,
too. It was real, the lust and tension that was suddenly between
them. “You are an irritant; did anyone ever tell you this? Did you
drive your husband insane, too?”

“
Rick appreciated me for
exactly who I am.” She frowned. “Was.”

Malachi knew he had to
tread very carefully. “I’m sure he did. And he must have had a very
easy-going temperament.”

Her eyes closed for a
moment and he felt a bit of regret that he’d brought up the dead
man. He hadn’t meant to bring back her grief. Hazel eyes opened
again, this time slightly wet. Malachi felt like the biggest ass in
creation.

“
He did.”

Her whisper brushed across
his lips. “Julia…”

“
Get off me. I need to
sleep, I’m getting up early tomorrow, and I’m tired.”

“
In a minute. I’m sorry I
brought him up.” He toyed with a bit of her hair. Soft.
Pretty.

“
Me, too.” Her hands clung
to his shoulders, surprising him. “I’m sorry.”

Her hair was spread out
over her shoulders, and he fought the desire to bury his face in
the strawberry-scented softness. “For what?”

“
Being a bitch to
you.”

“
Ah, I’m used to it. Al has
a few days where she tries to tear off my head for no good
reason.”

“
I’m scared. And I’m
nervous. And I’m taking it out on you. I shouldn’t. I know that.”
Contriteness was written all over her face. “But I still do it. And
I don’t know why I do it. With you. So once again, I’m
sorry.”

“
Because I’m here. And
because I care, and you know you can take it out on me.” What did
that make him, that he was glad she chose him to release her darker
emotions on? What was it about this woman that pulled at every
string he had—irritation, admiration, good old fashioned lust? He
hadn’t forgotten just where he pressed up against her. Not by any
means, had he forgotten. But he hated to see her eyes so
sad.

He leaned down and kissed
her; he just wanted to erase the sadness from her eyes. Sadness he
had put there. He kissed her for a long moment.

Then, to his shock, Julia
kissed him back.

***

What was she doing? She
didn’t want this. Not with him. Not now. Not…ever. She didn’t want
to feel the heat of him pressed against her, to feel the rush of
lust filling her as she pulled him tighter against her. He was so
big, muscled and strong. Alive and real. Why did she get herself
into these situations with him? Always him, from the moment they
had met more than eight months ago, he heated her. In every which
way; but this way was totally not what she expected.

She couldn’t deal with
this. Not now. Probably not ever.

Jules pushed against the
hard chest above her until he got the message. “I can’t do
this.”

“
Feels like you can to me.”
But he pulled away from her. “I guess you’re too afraid to take the
risk. I never thought you were a coward.”

“
Yes, yes I am.” Jules
shivered and tugged the blankets over her. Covered herself from
toes to chin. “I’m the biggest damned coward I know.”

“
A coward doesn’t do the
things you do, sweetheart. You’ve fought since we met. Me,
Stephenson, even Byrum in the woods that day. You shot him,
remember. When are you going to stop fighting yourself so hard?
Give yourself some slack?”

She flipped over on her
opposite side, facing away from him and scooting as close to the
edge of the mattress as she could get. Now she regretted the
impulse to share the bed. At the time, she’d wanted to rattle him
and she had; but now...If she got out of the bed, he’d win. He’d
know that he’d gotten to her. But what did that matter, anyway? She
scrambled over him and off the mattress. “Give me a
blanket.”

He didn’t say a word, but
his expression said it all for him. Jules flopped onto the lumpy
couch and spread the blanket over her. It was uncomfortable, but
far better than the alternative. She closed her eyes, determined to
block him out. She couldn’t deal with Malachi Brockman, not
anymore. Not now.

She wiped a stray tear away
with one hand, pulling the blanket to her chin with the other. Was
he right? Would she be a bad choice for Ruthie because of it?
Should she just back away and let the little girl wait, possibly
finding a better set of parents? Who else would want a child whose
father was a bigamist, rapist, and a serial killer? Could she do
that—let Ruthie sit in a foster home until someone else chose
her?

Jules didn’t know. All she
knew was that the thought of that little girl as alone as Jules
herself was made her unbearably sad and willing to do anything to
see that that child had at least one parent to love her. Like Jules
never had. But what if she inadvertently ended up doing more harm
than good?

He shifted on the bed, and
she listened to the springs creak. She squeezed her eyes shut as
the tears started. When they’d been kidnapped she’d found his
presence comforting. That wasn’t the case now.

* * *

Malachi knew she was
crying, even though she’d not made a single sound. He fought the
urge to go to her or to apologize—anything to erase the last six
minutes. But for one of the first times in his adult life he didn’t
know what to say or do. So he said and did nothing.

Her breathing finally
slowed and the last bit of tension slipped from the room. He pushed
his own blanket back and stood. He stared down at her in the low
light for a long moment. So scrawny, so almost frail at times. Yet
she gave as good as she got. Did she realize that she appeared more
alive when she was fighting him? He half saw the spark of the Julia
from those videos of Georgia’s when they fought. That Julia was in
there somewhere. He put one arm under her knees and the other
behind her back.

It wasn’t the first time
he’d carried Julia. He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the
scent that had haunted his dreams for weeks. He held her against
his chest for several long moments, just thinking.

He slipped her onto the
bed’s generic sheets, then covered her chastely with the blankets.
She had a big day tomorrow, and had had a long one today. It was
only right that he let her have the bed. He brushed fingers down
her cheek and resisted every urge he had to kiss her
again.

This damned woman was going
to be the end of him. He had no doubts about that.

Some of her hair was damp.
He combed his fingers through it, reconfirming how soft he
remembered it to be. For such a prickly little shrew, she was so
remarkably soft.

She shifted toward his
hand, whispering what he assumed was her dead husband’s name.
Malachi stiffened, inexplicably hurt. He forced himself to relax.
Of course she was dreaming of the dead man—he was the last man
she’d chosen to sleep with. Subconsciously, she probably thought he
was the other man. “I love you.”

Malachi fought an unholy
strong urge to whisper the words right back.

***

Malachi jerked awake some
hours later when the woman in the bed started thrashing. Whimpers
were coming through the darkness as she fought the blanket’s hold
on her. He sat up and threw his blanket back, ignoring the room’s
cold.

“
Julia.” He reached for the
light but nothing happened. “Julia, wake up. You’re having a
nightmare.”

He shook her until the
stiffening of her body told him she’d woken. “Mattie? Where’s
Mattie?”

“
Is that who you were
dreaming about?” Malachi kept his tone calm as he reached for his
cell and flipped on the auxiliary light. 3:19 a.m. “I’m sure
Matthew is safe in his bed right now.”

“
Malachi?”

The vulnerability he
remembered from the North St. Louis basement was clear in her voice
again. He also didn’t miss the fear. It went straight through him.
“Yes?”

Deep breaths were her only
response. He scooped her up again. She squeaked. Small hands
clenched around his arms, clung. It was so tempting to drop a kiss
to her forehead and tuck her tight against his chest. He did just
that, and then pulled the blanket tighter around them both. “The
power’s out.”

She drew in a breath, and
then stiffened against him. He manfully tried to ignore the way her
chest had reacted to the cold. He was a gentleman, after all. At
least, according to his mother, he was. In times like this, he
wondered.