Against the Sky (3 page)

The kiss went on till her knees felt weak, her body pliable and completely at his mercy. It barely registered that he had stripped off the backless white sundress she had been wearing, that she was naked except for her super high heels and a pair of white lace bikini panties she had bought at Victoria's Secret on her way back to the hotel after the convention, an indulgence she had convinced herself had nothing to do with Nick, but actually had everything to do with Nick.

Her gaze locked with his. Completely focused on Nick, when he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off and tossed it away, kicked off his shoes and unzipped his pants, for a moment, she couldn't breathe.

The man was ripped. A long, lean torso corded with muscle, six-pack abs, and shoulders that could fill a door frame. His hair wasn't quite black, she realized, just so dark it looked that way and so did the dusting of hair on his chest that arrowed down into the navy blue slacks hanging low on his hips. As he drew her against him, she could feel the springy texture against her breasts, and goose bumps feathered over her skin.

Lifting her into his arms, he settled her in the middle of the king-size bed, then shed his shoes, pants, and briefs, leaving him naked and fiercely aroused. Samantha's eyes widened at his formidable size and length as he came down over her and started kissing her again, drawing her back into the heat, making her forget everything but him.

“Sweet Jesus, I want you,” he whispered against the side of her neck. And dear God, she wanted him, too.

A half dozen hot kisses followed, drugging her completely, stirring a hungry ache that settled deep in her core.

“Nick . . .” she whispered as he touched her there, stroked her, seemed to know exactly how to give her pleasure. “Please . . .”

“Easy, baby, we'll get there.” He took his time with her breasts, molding and caressing, making the hunger build. As he settled himself between her legs, she realized he had sheathed himself—she had no idea when. She only knew he felt big and hard as he entered her, slowed at the snug fit, kissed her deeply as he seated himself to the hilt. Then he started to move.

“Nick . . .” Catching the rhythm, Samantha gave herself up to the wild sensations, the two of them moving together as if their lovemaking had been perfectly choreographed. She was hot. So hot. She had never felt this hot before, never felt as if her body was going to come apart.

“Let yourself go, Samantha.” The commanding voice, touched with a hint of tenderness, had her on the edge, then tipping into climax.

“Nick,” she cried softly, but Nick didn't stop. It wasn't until she had reached a second powerful release that he finally let himself go, his muscles tightening, a growl low in his throat.

Samantha clung to his neck as she began to spiral down, a secret smile locked inside her. Nick had given her a perfect memory, just as she had hoped. Samantha knew she wouldn't forget it—or him—any time soon.

 

 

Dressed to leave, the sun not yet up, Nick leaned down and softly kissed Samantha's cheek. He smiled when she didn't stir. He had no doubt he had lived up to his promise. Sex with Samantha Hollis had been fantastic. Better than fantastic.

After the first time, he had left her napping and returned to his room for a handful of condoms. His encounter wasn't planned but he had learned to be prepared and—hey, he was in Vegas. And the truth was, he hadn't had enough of Samantha Hollis. Not nearly enough.

The second time they'd made love, she had been less reserved. The third time, the lady had been a tigress. She was small, but every ounce a woman. Nick could think of a dozen different ways he'd like to have her. If she hadn't had a job waiting for her in San Francisco, he might have suggested they stay another week.

Instead, he headed back to his room and packed the carry-on bag that held all the clothes he'd brought. Wheeling the bag toward the door of his suite, he paused long enough to pick up the phone and call down to the concierge.

“I'd like a bouquet of red roses,” he told the man on the other end of the line, then read the address on the card Samantha had given him for The Perfect Pup on Hyde Street in San Francisco.

“What would you like on the note, sir?”

He thought of Samantha and smiled. “Just say,
Thanks for the memories, Nick.
”

Nick hung up the phone.

Samantha read the card on the huge bouquet of two dozen red roses one more time. They had come to the shop the day after she got back to San Francisco and she had been admiring them ever since.

She sighed. Her fantasy weekend was over, nothing but memories, as the card reminded her. Once the flowers wilted, thoughts of Nick Brodie would fade along with them. Still, it had been wonderful.

“He must have been something.” Her partner, Abigail Dunstan, walked toward her. “You've read that card half a dozen times.” Taller by six inches, two years older, red-haired and outspoken, Abby Dunstan was a far different woman from Samantha. And yet they'd been friends ever since she'd started working for Abby at The Perfect Pup four years ago.

Samantha just smiled. “Nick was perfect—or at least he was for three whole days.” She grinned. “Of course, no man is ever completely perfect so it's probably a good thing he's totally out of reach.”

“Maybe,” Abby said. “But not all men are like that rat-bastard Justin Chapman—
the third,
” she added with a haughty accent and her nose in the air.

Samantha laughed. “I guess not. Doesn't matter. Nick's long gone.” Just like his flowers soon would be.

“Well, you'll always have the memories.”

“True . . .” She gave a wistful sigh and took a last glance at the roses. “And making them is one thing I'll never regret.”

 

 

Home once more, Nick spent the first four days prowling the house, watching TV, telling himself he would figure out what he wanted to do with his life, and slowly driving himself crazy.

Off and on, he thought of Samantha, but the long weekend in Vegas seemed a distant fantasy, the woman, a pretty little wet dream that had nothing to do with the reality of his life in Alaska. They had e-mailed back and forth a few times, and Samantha had thanked him for the roses, but that had been days ago. He hadn't heard from her since.

His fifth day back, he heard a knock at the door, looked up from his place on the brown leather sofa in front of his big, flat-screen TV to see his best friend, Cordell Reeves, a detective with the Anchorage PD, standing on his porch. Grateful for the break from doing nothing, Nick walked over and opened the door.

“Hey, man, good to see you. Come on in.”

Cord's hazel eyes skimmed over Nick's bare feet, jeans, and the plain white T-shirt he had pulled on that morning. “I see nothing's changed since you got back. You're wearing the same uniform you had on before you left.”

“Very funny. You want a cup of coffee or a beer?”

“Coffee sounds good.” Cord was a couple of inches shorter, about six feet, same lean build, but his hair was blond instead of dark like Nick's. Before they'd gone to work for the Anchorage PD, they had both been in the military, Nick in the Rangers, Cord a Marine. They had hit it off the first day they'd met and been friends ever since.

Nick led Cord into the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee from the pot he'd made earlier that morning. Cord took a sip and wrinkled his nose.

“On second thought, I think I'll pass.” He dumped the thick black brew in the sink. It smelled like dirty laundry.

“I could make some fresh.”

Cord shook his head. “I can't stay long. I just came by to see if you'd come to your senses or if you were still deluding yourself into thinking you want to do something besides work.”

“I never said I didn't want to work. I just want to work at something different.”

“All right, so while you're looking for something different, how about a temporary job? You know Marvin Baxter? Owns Baxter Security? One of his guys quit without notice, and he's got some rich corporate oil man flying into Anchorage who needs protection. You'd be working eight-hour shifts, rotating with two other guys. You interested?”

Nick glanced over at the TV. He was going to start climbing the walls if he didn't find something to do besides watch Dr. Phil and Ellen Degeneres. Besides, he was tired of thinking of Samantha Hollis and all the things he wanted to do to her luscious little body. Things he would probably be fantasizing about for the rest of his life.

“Yeah, I'm interested. When do I start?”

Cord cocked a dark gold eyebrow. “Aren't you even going to ask me what it pays?”

Nick just grunted. “Another two days, I'd probably do it for free.”

Cord chuckled. “I'll tell him you're in. It'll only be for a couple of weeks. Maybe by then, you'll have figured out what you want to do—or get your ass back to working Homicide, where you belong.”

“That's not gonna happen.” He wanted a change, something that wouldn't give him more nightmares.

“Fine. At least this'll give you something to do.”

Nick walked Cord outside, waited beneath the overhanging porch while his friend climbed into his Chevy Silverado pickup and started the engine. The house wasn't much, just a three-bedroom, two-bath wood-frame, but it sat on five forested acres. From the porch you could see Fish Lake, walk down through the trees and be sitting on your dock in a couple of minutes. The cabin had a masculine, outdoor feel, with some great mounted trophy fish on the living room walls, along with old wicker creels and antique rods his dad had given him.

Best of all, the place was his now, bought and paid for with some of the inheritance money he had received from the sale of the ranch.

Cord was just pulling away when Nick spotted Jimmy Evans and his dog, a golden retriever named Duke, walking beneath the pine trees along the road toward the house. Nick hadn't seen the kid since he got back from Vegas. He hoped the boy was doing okay, but the solemn look on Jimmy's face made him wonder.

At least he had another excuse not to watch the f-ing TV.

Or dwell on his lost weekend with Samantha.

 

 

Jimmy spotted Nick on the porch and picked up his pace. He'd given his friend a couple of days to get home and settled before he'd come down the hill to see him.

Or at least he'd told himself that was the reason. Mostly, he'd been trying to think what he was going to say.

Nick waved at him from the porch. “Hey, Jimmy!”

Jimmy waved back. “Hey, Nick!” He reached the steps and paused. “Okay if I come in for a minute?”

“Sure, come on up.”

Jimmy climbed the stairs, and they walked into the house together. Jimmy sat down on the sofa in front of the river rock fireplace, and Nick sat down in one of the chairs.

“How you doin', buddy?” Nick asked.

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, I guess. Looks like my dad left the house to me and Aunt Mary, so we both get to stay there.”

“That's great, Jim. I was hoping it would work out that way.”

“I really miss him, you know?”

Nick sat forward in the chair. “I was older when I lost my parents, first my mom and then my dad. But I still miss them. It's hard at first. Eventually, it'll get better.”

“Yeah, I guess. The thing is . . . umm . . . I . . . umm . . .”

“What is it, Jim?”

He took a deep breath. He was afraid to tell Nick, afraid of what might happen. But he wasn't a coward and he owed it to his dad. The breath he had been holding rushed out all at once. “I don't think my dad had a heart attack. I think he was murdered.”

Nick's black eyebrows went up. Jimmy could tell he didn't believe him. Nick was looking at Jimmy with pity.

“Hey, I know losing your dad was hard,” Nick said. “Especially since you've already lost your mom. But dreaming up stories won't make it any easier.”

Jimmy's heart was pounding. He could feel it pumping beneath the Aces' hockey team polar bear emblem on his T-shirt. “I'm not making it up, Nick. There was a man . . . he came to see my dad the day before he died. I heard them talking in the study, arguing real loud. I don't know what they were fighting about but I know it was bad. The man said, ‘You made a mistake, Alex. Now you're going to pay.'”

“Maybe they were fighting about business,” Nick said. “Both of them were angry, so it sounded like the man made a threat.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I think it was business, but the man really meant it. When I went into the study, my dad looked like he was going to throw up. His face was pale and kind of blotchy. He pulled out the bottle of whiskey he kept in a drawer in his desk and filled a glass to the brim. His hands were shaking, he was so scared.”

“He had a heart attack, Jimmy. There was an autopsy. Maybe the argument triggered it. The stress of his job—who knows? You need to deal with the fact your father's gone and nothing you do is going to bring him back. Maybe you should talk to a counselor or something. I'm sure your school could arrange it.”

Jimmy's chest was beginning to hurt. Maybe he was going to have a real heart attack instead of a fake one like his dad. “There are ways to kill people and cover it up, you know. I've seen it on TV. They could have poisoned him or something. You're a cop. You could find out the truth. I don't want some guy murdering my dad and getting away with it.”

“Jimmy . . .”

“After the man left, my dad asked me if I'd heard anything. I lied and said I didn't. Dad said even if I had, I couldn't tell anyone. Not ever. He made me promise. I would have kept my word, too. But not now. Not after they killed him. Please say you'll find the man who did it.”

Nick came out of his chair and Jimmy stood up, too. “I'm not a cop anymore and even if I were, I wouldn't ask them to reopen the case. There isn't any real evidence. You hearing some guy arguing with your dad isn't enough. I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'll help you any way I can, but not with this.”

The beat of Jimmy's heart turned slow and dull. His chest felt heavy. “I was afraid you'd say no.”

Nick set a hand on his shoulder. “School's back in session. You're a good student. Take on an extracurricular project. Or if you don't want that, try out for some sport besides just hockey. It'll be easier if you keep yourself busy.”

Jimmy said nothing.

“Look, maybe we could go fishing this weekend. What do you say?”

Jimmy swallowed. He wasn't interested in catching fish. He wanted to catch a killer. “Yeah, maybe.” Even if Nick wouldn't help, he wasn't going to give up. He was going to find the man who killed his dad. He just wished he knew where to start looking.