Dead Shot (23 page)

He took her around to the back, where Chip’s driver had the Land Rover waiting.

“Get in,” Ray said, hovering over the passenger side until she complied. He came around, slid behind the wheel, turned the engine on, and took off.

“Chip gave you the keys? He never lets anyone drive this car.”

“His driver, Eugene, gave me the keys. Chip gave me permission.” He rounded the bend that led to the front of the house and the drive through the gates.

“Where’s the limo?”

“Probably on its way back to the hotel by now.”

“A decoy?”

“A decoy.”

Suspicious, Gillian glanced at him, a vague feeling of uneasiness sweeping over her. “But you know I like my notoriety.”

“Uh-huh.” Then he turned west, away from the hotel.

“You taking me out, Ray?”

“That’s right.”

But she didn’t think so. And short of jumping out of a moving car, she had no recourse but to take the ride.

Resentment brewing, she stared out at the night until they passed the turnoff to Highway 100.

Ray stole a glance at her. Did she have memories of the road? If so, she didn’t say.

Ten minutes later, he turned into River Bend Estates.

“Didn’t think there were any clubs here,” Gillian said.

“Private club,” Ray told her, and pulled up to a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was ordinary enough, stone and wood with decent landscaping, but nothing that stood out. A small iron stand held a lamp aloft, lighting the stone path to the door. Ray escorted her up it.

“What are you doing, Ray?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“I’ll be safe at the hotel.”

“You and I, we have different definitions of that word.”

He would have let her unlock the door again, but he wasn’t sure she would do it. Instead, he reached over her, inserted the key, turned the lock, and opened the door himself. She didn’t budge, and he gave her a gentle push inside.

35

Ray closed the door, and Gillian turned to him, violet eyes flashing. “You are one slick dude.”

“You wouldn’t have left the hotel otherwise.”

“Isn’t this considered kidnapping?”

“We arranged it with Chip, so your family knows all about it.”

Her mouth came down in a hard line. “Give me the car keys,” she said.

“I don’t think so.”

“This is ridiculous. You’re not a cop anymore, and you can’t keep me here.”

“I can try.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

“No phone.”

She glared at him, then dove into her purse.

“It’s not there,” he said mildly. “I left it back at your grandparents’.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Had to get you out of the public eye. Security company owns the house. It’s a bridge site. Temporary safe house when we need a place to regroup.”

“I don’t need to regroup.”

“While you were messing with your grandmother’s head, your Web site received another message.”

She stilled.

“Killer did a little editing.”

She raised a single questioning brow.

“Took out the ‘I’,” Ray said. “Added the words ‘with me.’”

She put it together. “Make it real . . . with me. With me. He wants me to join him? Kill someone together?”

“Or be his next victim.”

Acknowledgment crossed her face, acceptance tinged with eagerness. It scared him. “So,” he said, looking around. The walls didn’t seem strong enough to hold her in. “Regroup. Some of your stuff is already here.” He gestured inward. “You should have everything you need.”

She eyed him, seemed to debate how much to protest, then sighed. “Fine.”

He paused. That was too easy. “Fine?”

“Fine. Fine!” She stormed around, threw her arms up in the air. More like what he expected. “We’re here. Fine.” She threw her purse on the couch. Flopped down beside it.

“There’s food. I had them get you that puffy cheese stuff you like so much.”

“What a guy.” She looked around. “This it? Just me and my keeper? Oh, and mustn’t forget, snacks.”

“Landowe is outside.”

“I suppose he has a phone.”

“He’s not going to call you a cab.”

“God, no. Of course not.”

“Glad you’re being such a sport about this.” She gave him an evil look. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.” He led her down the hallway and opened the first door on the right. A bedroom. Her suitcase was on the bed. “You’re in here.”

“And you?”

He gestured vaguely. “I’ll be around.”

Gillian let the vagueness slide. Truth was, all she really cared about were those keys. And getting back out where the monster could find her.

She glanced at Ray, at his sleek, long body, the hard-edged face, and her fingers curled instinctively, wanting to touch. Okay, so maybe the monster wasn’t all she cared about. She hadn’t missed the sidelong looks Ray had been giving her all day. Like he wanted to take his eyes off her but couldn’t quite manage it. And his white shirt, wrinkled now, yes, but still clinging to his broad shoulders, offsetting his powerful neck . . . She wasn’t the only one having trouble keeping her gaze to herself.

All of which was beside the point. The point being those keys.

She sidled up to him, moving in closer. “Around where?” She had to tilt her head up. God, he was big. So big.

“Wherever.” He swallowed, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing hugely. “Around. Don’t worry about it.”

She put her hands on his waist, felt him go rigid. “I’m not worried.”

“Good. Because I wouldn’t want you to be.”

His mouth was close enough if she stood on tiptoe, but his pocket was closer. He was staring down at her. Dazed. Distracted. She forced herself to remember what she was supposed to be doing and that she might not get another chance. In the time it took to draw a single breath, she lunged for the pocket where she’d seen him stash the keys.

But he was quicker and a lot less distracted than she’d imagined. His hand shot out and clasped her wrist. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

She refused to give up. Her fingers fished around, felt the metallic shape of the keys, and though her wrist was imprisoned, she managed to close her fingers around them even as he pulled her hand out of his pocket.

She hadn’t counted on his other hand, though, which quickly closed in on the keys and snatched them away from her.

“Give me those!” She grabbed for them, and he held them over her head.

“Not on your life.”

She jumped, swatting at his hand, which he easily jerked out of reach. Stumbling, she landed against him. Pushed and shoved and used the moment to swipe at the keys again.

An irritated look crossed his face. “That’s enough. Stop it.”

“Make me.”

“You’re kidding.” He laughed, which made her more angry, and she glowered at him, daring him silently.

He gave a tiny shrug, moved, and, before she knew how, he’d pinned her back against the wall. She struggled, but he held her effortlessly, her hands trapped over her head.

“Let me go,” she growled.

“No.”

Her back was arched, her breasts extended, and he was looking. Not just looking. He was riveted. Rapt. Her nipples hardened and burst through the thin fabric of her bra as though his eyes were drawing them up and out.

“Let me go!”

Instead, he bent down and captured her mouth. He wasn’t gentle about it either, but she didn’t want or need gentleness. A bolt of pure energy ripped through her. Her knees rocked, and without warning, a groan escaped.

“Still want to leave?” he whispered, and kissed her again.

She fought to loose his hold, but not to escape, never to escape. Only to touch him. She wanted desperately to feel his strong, solid body beneath her hands. And when he pulled back for an instant, she darted her head forward and grabbed his mouth, drinking in his lips and his tongue. He groaned, softened, and let her go to wrap his arms around her.

And she snatched the keys out of his hands and dodged away.

He shouted and ran after her. Pounded down the hall. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor. Like the first time at the museum, his big body trapping her beneath him. But this time, God this time. His breath was in her hair, his mouth at her ear, and the hard length of him against her hip. She couldn’t help herself. Keys fisted in her hands, she rotated around so she could wrap her arms around his neck. Somehow she forgot about running. Her hands, had they been full of something? Something besides his shoulders and his muscled arms? Eagerly, her fingers ran over that white shirt, jerking it out of his pants, fumbling with the buttons, then ripping them apart. Suddenly he was free of it. His skin, his powerful chest, everything open to her.

He parted her shirt, and cold air hit her own bare chest, but his frantic mouth warmed her. Her breasts, still sheathed in black net and lace, her belly, and lower, God lower. She raised her hips, and he shoved up her skirt, ripped off the black thong she wore underneath. Too fevered to take off shoes and boots. Just his zipper. God, open up for me, babe.

And then he was inside her.

“Ray,” she moaned. “Ray, God.”

They were on the floor in a pool of fire, and he was doing what she’d wanted him to do for days. Half-naked, half-clothed, thick with the charged heat of passion.

“Going somewhere?” he said, panting.

She nicked his lip; he bit back. “Wherever you take me.”

She gasped as he thrust inside her again and again, hard. So hard. She spread her legs, the heels of her boots digging into his back. His body was touching her, stroking, taking her higher—and suddenly she was flying, screaming, and he swallowed her scream in his mouth, chugging her name as he came inside her.

And then there was only silence. The quaking aftermath of what they’d done.

Into the quiet, Ray jerked and pulled away from her. His earpiece had been dislodged, and he scrambled to find it and turn it on. “What?” He spoke into it quickly without putting it on. “No, no, we’re fine. No, stay there.” He cleared his throat. “No, everything’s fine. We’re good here.” He straightened his clothes, stood, zipped up.

The gesture sent a shudder of heat through her, and she couldn’t resist. Not bothering to shed her blouse or cover herself up, breasts tight against the lace of her bra, one strap dangling, she crawled over to him. Wound her way up his leg until she was kneeling in front of him. Her hands reached for the zipper. “Uh, I’ll let you know.” He slapped her away, but she came back. He gasped as she touched him. “Nothing. No, we’re good.”

“Oh, no, we’re not,” she murmured. “We are bad, Ray. Very, very bad.” And she smiled to see he was hard again.

She freed him. Licked him. The hand without the radio grasped the top of her head. Begging her to stop, urging her to continue. “Okay,” he said into the mike, his voice straining. “Okay. Later.” Then he groaned, giving voice to what he’d been repressing, and his fingers tightened on her head as she took him full in her mouth. “Jesus Christ.”

He collapsed against the wall, his hand still fused to the top of her head, his sex sliding in and out of her mouth. She tasted all of him, the hard, massive length, the arrow tip. He leaped against her tongue, and she teased him again. He moaned, and she gently ran her teeth up and down him.

All at once, he shuddered violently, then wrenched away. He kicked off his shoes, stepped out of his khakis, and, swooping down, lifted her up as though she were a doll. She wrapped her legs around him, and he impaled himself in her, his tongue now where his cock had been, and his cock . . . God, she could feel him clear up to her womb. She grunted with wet, loose pleasure, feeling the sting of ecstasy carry her away again. New, fresh, as if she hadn’t just done this ten minutes ago. As if she’d never done this. Not with him, not with anyone. She was climbing that hill, reaching for that fierce, special place where the sun was bright and warm, and darkness couldn’t touch her. But before she could arrive, he was moving, going somewhere else. She whimpered a protest, but he took her with him, still buried deep inside her, and they tumbled into a bedroom and onto the bed.

The fall disengaged them, and she crawled on top of him, wanting the warmth back, the heat of him inside her. She slid home, moaning with the feel of it. Desperate for his fingers, for the brand of his palm, she wrenched off her shirt and bra, and his hands cradled her liberated breasts. He caressed the tips, leaned up to kiss them. She arched back, rode him deep and fast, and when they came, they collapsed together, folding in on each other like trees in a hurricane.

It felt like a year before she could breathe normally again. A century before the world came back, and she saw she was sprawled across him. That his hand was in her hair, on her bare back and shoulder, and finally, finally, her naked arms.

She stilled, ever so slightly.

“What the—” He finished the question by rolling her over. There was a lamp on the beside table, and he snapped it on. Gillian covered her eyes with the back of one hand, but she felt his fingers roaming up and down her arms. Felt his eyes, seeing for the first time, burning with questions. She braced. Waited. Marshaled all her explanations.