Savage Echoes (The Nickie Savage Series, Short Story Prequel) (6 page)

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Authors: R.T. Wolfe

BOOK: Savage Echoes (The Nickie Savage Series, Short Story Prequel)

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Under the stairs, he found hinges. Tucking his fingers around the panel, he tugged but couldn't loosen it. He turned to his side, stepped behind and kicked. Concealed in the fiberboard was the inside latch. The half-door was a foot thick, padded with layers of material.

"Sound proofing," he heard Nickie say behind him.

A small space was followed by yet another door. By this time, they could hear the cries of defeated pleas.

* * *

Nickie did a double take when she noticed Duncan still waiting by his car. It was nearly two a.m. Everything was coated with a slick layer of wet frost. The night was clear and the wind calm. She was neither. She'd told Duncan he could head home hours ago. He'd been debriefed and would be again, but the rest could wait. The rush of finding Serena Flats, taking down Tom Bradley and all that came after kept her preoccupied. She should have known he would wait for her. It wasn't the first time.

Dave was there, of course, and a half-dozen reporters. He completed a statement for them before heading toward her. "Get some sleep, Nick. We'll finish up at the station in the morning."

With all that ensued after finding Serena, Nickie was on a high that wasn't coming down anytime soon. She looked over to Duncan again. He leaned against his classic car with ankles crossed. His gun would be hidden in his glove box by now. They were damned lucky he hadn't fired it. His gaze was unreadable to most people, but she wasn't most people. She wasn't his type, is what she wasn't. Everyone said so. But here he was. Waiting for her.

Turning to Dave, she answered, "You're right. I'll be in at o-eight hundred."

His plate-sized hand took hers. "I'm not asking how you knew. I'm only going to say nice job." His other hand rested on her shoulder. It felt fatherly, and she appreciated it.

She hoped her responding look to Dave was one of thanks before she headed to Duncan. Only his eyes moved as he followed her walk toward him. The chocolate brown appeared coal black in the dark. She was in love with Duncan Reed, artist for the famous and the wealthy, tycoon for himself and any pet projects he hooked into.

A smile found her lips. "I told you to go home. That makes about a dozen times in a twenty-four hour period you didn't listen to me."

His smile, as slight as it was, seared through her skin and dove into her heart. How did she get involved with such a man? With CSI and the ME still working behind her, she blinked, trying to keep her composure.

"The captain says I need to get some rest." She tried for her most seductive grin.

* * *

The ten-minute drive seemed to take hours. Tension linked the cars like invisible electricity. The tires squealed around each corner. Nickie fumbled with her keys as they jogged up her walk. Why did she have so many damned keys? She barely had time to flip the light switch before long fingers gripped her waist and pulled. She jerked into his hard, lanky body that pressed into her from head to toe.

Frantically, she squirmed in his possessive arms, rotating until she faced him. Close and personal. Hands groped and legs twined. Everything she'd done, the memories that taunted her, they left her mind and her body and were replaced with the growing love they had for each other.

His lips were addicting and joined the last part of their bodies that hadn't been assaulting her senses. He kissed her as if it were their last time, digging his fingers into her hair, gripping the side of her face.

She tore at the damned clothes that stood between her and the feel of his flesh. She yearned to see the tattoos on his forearm and chest, trace the lines of fire with her tongue. Lifting her arms, she invited him in.

He stopped, clasped hands with her above and pressed their foreheads together. Shaking his back and forth, he whispered, "Every time I close my eyes, I see Bradley with a knife to your neck."

It wasn't a question, and she had no answer. He didn't open his eyes but slid his fingers down to the backs of her thighs, digging them into her legs. He lifted, wrapping her legs around his waist. Heat pressed against heat. She felt that he was as ready for her as she was for him, and it sent shivers to her toes.

They made their way to the bedroom like drunks. Rarely did they make it to a bed. The feel of him pressing against her buzzed over her entire body and landed straight in her core.

Her head flew against a pillow as her back arched in need.

Her hands grabbed and clutched and helped Duncan forget about the knife, if only for now. Nickie was all woman and was all his. Candy-apple red lace? She killed him every time. He couldn't finish with their clothes fast enough. He had to see if the bottoms matched the top. Candy-apple red and sheer. They rolled and tore until it was the only thing between them. He didn't ever want anything between them.

She tasted smart and sophisticated. He was lost with no desire to find his way back again. Limbs twined in a desperate need until there was no way to tell which was up or what was where.

The way she arched into him. The catlike sounds that escaped her throat.

"I love you," he mumbled against her lips, circling the red lace with his thumbs.

Her answer was indecipherable, and his lips curved. He replaced his thumbs with his mouth. Her powerful legs wrapped around him, her nails found purchase in his shoulders. He trailed his hands around the generous swell over the lace, across her fit stomach until he reached her center. She writhed beneath his touch. Forcing his own composure, she lost control... of her legs, of her lungs, of her body.

Patiently, gently, he let her come down and take one deep breath before pushing her up again.

"Duncan." She said his name as her head flew back. He braced her with his body and she flew higher. "Now," she yelled.

Willpower be damned. He lowered over her, felt her legs and every part of her tighten around him. It was like getting the breath knocked out of him. This woman. They moved together like they were meant to be. His Nickie.

She choked, "I love you," as everything seemed to quicken. He had to look at her, see her. He lifted until their eyes met. She went over as he barely hung on. A tear escaped her eyes and ran down her temple. It was more than he could take, and he joined her, shaking, wanting. Needing.

He'd never needed anything in this life. He'd made sure of that. And here he was, covering the only woman he'd ever loved. Slowly, their breathing began its descent. Their bodies cooled to a reasonable temperature.

How did he get here? When? Nickie Savage? He'd been a fool for so long.

"We made it to the bed," he mumbled in her hair.

Her shoulders shook slightly. "I noticed."

Rolling to the side of her, he wrapped an arm behind her head. Her body was flushed from head to toe. He rested his splayed hand on her stomach. "I don't think this is the kind of rest the captain had in mind."

"This is exactly the kind of rest I had in mind."

It was mere seconds before she was sound asleep.

* * *

First, Nickie opened her eyes to the red numbers on her bedside table. Then, she found Duncan. He was fully dressed and working on his laptop at her bedroom desk. She let her head fall back onto the pillow and closed her eyes at the thought of how messy she'd left her townhouse. He was the cleanest person she knew and never said a word about her... housekeeping habits.

"Good morning, Detective."

"I'm going to miss my workout," she moaned.

"You should beat yourself up over that," he said sarcastically.

Point taken. The shower was blissful, the raspberry yogurt just what she needed. Duncan was packing his briefcase when she finally made it out of the bathroom. She was feeling sexy today. Saved a girl, took down a monster, a night with her lover. She wore her three-inch thin-heeled boots. She could still sprint a city block if need be. Snug pants, a powder blue blouse, and she was good to go.

She checked the safety on her M&P .45ACP, and her phone rang. "Savage."

As she listened to the person on the other end, her backside dropped to the bed. Her feet wouldn't move, her arms couldn't move. She sensed she was speaking, answering, but she couldn't hear her voice over the rush of air that sucked from her lungs. "Captain Nolan knows? Yes, sir. Of course. Right away."

Duncan had moved and stood next to her, but at this point, she wasn't sure which way was up.

As soon as she disconnected, she dropped her head between her legs. Breathe, Savage. Just breathe. A warm hand pressed on her back, keeping her head between her legs.

When she felt relatively certain she wouldn't pass out, she lifted her head. Slowly.

Deep, chocolate brown eyes met hers as she sat. He didn't ask. He didn't have to.

"It's... it was the FBI. They found an abandoned home just outside of Vegas. The bodies of two girls, beds and... and cages. They want me to come out and assess the scene."

The End