Deadly Pursuit (SCVC Taskforce) (10 page)

BOOK: Deadly Pursuit (SCVC Taskforce)
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The snowplow drove by, an inch of snow arcing over the Durango. Cooper swore under his breath as the wipers made another pass and failed to clear the glass. His wheels were now sitting in several inches of snow. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be stuck there until morning.

Stuck in bed with Celina.
The thought hit him with the force of a body slam, just like the waves he often rode on his surfboard.

He could, right now, touch Celina, make love to her, wipe the hurt off The New Face of the FBI, and replace it with happiness. What the hell was wrong with him that he would pass that up? When had he lost his ability to throw caution to the wind and actually
live
his life? He’d been dancing with the devil for too long. It was making him old and…careful. Too careful. There were no guarantees. Tomorrow he could be in a wheelchair like Dyer. Or worse. He might die having passed up the best night of his life.

The snow was coming down harder and Celina’s opinion that no one would know where or how he spent the night echoed in his head. “Okay, Mother Nature,” he said aloud to the snow falling outside. “You win.”

Inside the entryway, Celina was sitting on the second step, head down, face covered with her mittens. Cooper’s breath caught in his throat. She was crying.

Over him.

Another slam of emotions hit him. All this time, he’d kept his distance from her through sheer will power. Seeing her slumped on the stairs, crying because he’d hurt her, did him in. He tried to speak her name, found his throat closed tight.

The door hinge squeaked behind him as he let it shut, and slowly, ever so slowly, Celina raised her face out of her mittens and looked at him.

Tears clung to her eyelashes and her cheeks were moist. But her eyes—damn. Hurt, sadness, confusion mixing in as second by second quietly ticked by.

Cooper found his legs moving forward, his body crouching in front of her. He raised one of his frozen fingers to her cheek and wiped at the tear running down it. Her skin was smooth and soft and oh, so warm under his fingertip.

She turned her head into his hand and his finger fell next to her lips. Still speechless, Cooper let his finger touch the outside corner of her frown. Her lips parted on an intake of breath and he slid his finger across her full bottom lip.

He found his voice, but it was ragged. “God, I want you.”

And then she was kissing him, her lips fire against his. He kissed her back, pushing his body against hers to counterbalance her weight as she threw her arms around his neck. He grabbed the solid wooden spindle of the stair ballast with one hand, the back of her head with the other. His fingers slipped under the knit cap to tangle in her hair.

She drew him against her as she leaned back on the stairs, and he cupped her head to keep it from banging on the edge of the wooden stair behind her. Her tongue was shooting fire inside his mouth, and
sweet Jesus
, she tasted like spicy salsa and salty limes. Why had he waited so long to do this?

Because he was a stupid, stupid man.

Celina, still kissing the hell out of him, opened his coat. Her mittens were off and her cool fingertips brushed his neck, sending electric sensations shooting right to his groin. He pulled back from her lips and choked out her name, “Celina.”

Her eyes opened to his, and she seemingly read his mind. “Right,” she said, her breath soft on his face. “Not here. Upstairs.”

He nodded, and rising, guided her to her feet. She picked up her hat and gloves, danced up the stairs toward the next landing. His cock was harder than granite and he tried unsuccessfully to rearrange it inside his pants as he watched her heart-shaped ass disappear around the corner.

He ran seven miles a day, surfed when he could, and put in three to six hours a week on the mat in hand-to-hand combat training. But three flights of stairs with a hard-on made him seriously question his stamina.

Until he made it to the top and Celina turned from inserting the key in her apartment door’s lock, giving him that wicked smile of hers, all sex and heat and,
Jesus

He was on her before she could turn the knob.

Pressing her against the door, he kissed her, unzipping her leather coat and shoving his hands inside, past the lining, warm from her body heat, past her shoulder holster and straight to her waist. Fingers working on their own accord tickled her ribs and cupped her breasts. She moaned as his thumbs brushed over her hard nipples.

The door opened, and in they went, sliding off of it. Celina closing it. Cooper pinning her to the inside.

The apartment was dark, but a large west-facing picture window let in enough light for Cooper to see that the wicked smile was still on Celina’s face. She wound a leg around him as her hands unzipped his coat the rest of the way. He let it fall to the floor.

Her coat followed. Then her shoulder holster with a dull thud as it hit the ground. His echoed it.

Thirty seconds later, her jeans were next to the jacket. Together they pushed her turtleneck up and off her head and Cooper ran his fingers over the lacy white bra filled to capacity with soft skin. She unzipped his pants as he groped her breasts, and Cooper absorbed her moan as she rose up on tippy-toes, straining to take him in.

One logical neuron was still firing in his brain. Heady from the intensity, it was all he could do to pull a condom from his wallet and cover himself. It took two tries to open the damn package, mostly because Celina removed her bra and Cooper’s knees went weak from the sight of those plump breasts and dark nipples. As he yanked the condom on, she dropped her bikinis to the floor. Cooper palmed each side of Celina’s bottom as she opened herself to him, her sock-clad feet wrapping around his hips.

Just like in his fantasies, Cooper took her hard, the fire inside him rushing to climax, almost violent in its animalistic need.

Celina took everything he gave and wanted more. She bucked and pushed and grabbed and met every thrust with equal enthusiasm.

Her release came swiftly. She cried his name into the dark apartment, burying her fingernails into his shoulders as she arched against him. Three strokes later, Cooper’s own release hit him like a tsunami, knocking his equilibrium into a tailspin, his breath from his chest. He held her against the door for long moments, legs shaking from the exertion.

In the aftermath, they left the lights off and their clothes on the floor, climbing into Celina’s bed. She snuggled against him, her smile now one of contentment.

Cooper fell asleep, only to awake a short while later to Celina’s lips on his chest working their way downward. As she slid a trail of kisses down his stomach and,
ahh, God
, made contact under the covers, Cooper buried his hands in her hair and watched the snow falling soundlessly outside the window.

 

Chapter Eight

 

Celina felt like she’d just closed her eyes when her cell phone on the nightstand rang. Her body, deeply satiated and tired, was rolling onto its side and reaching for it before her brain caught up. The apartment was still dark; her eyes automatically scanned the red numbers of her alarm clock; 5:35.

This can’t be good.

She interrupted the phone’s second ring, rubbing her eyes, and dropping her head back on the pillow. “Hello?” she said, only then realizing Cooper wasn’t beside her.

Where was he? Her fingers felt the pillow, still indented from his head. It was cold. Her eyes went to the bathroom, noted the door was open and there was no light on. The voice in her ear spoke in a low, quiet tone. “Sleeping well?”

Celina blinked and raised herself up on one elbow, goose bumps rising on her arms. Her brain absently noted Cooper’s clothes were gone from the floor. Gun, jacket. Everything.

The voice came again. “Do you ever dream about me, Celina?”

Her brain engaged, her breath stopping in her chest. She sat straight up, any residue of sleep gone with the thudding of her heart. She knew the voice on the phone as well as her own.

“Why are you calling me?” A whisper that gave away her surprise. Her eyes flew to the red numbers again, double-checking the time. What prisoner had phone privileges at that time in the morning? “How did you get my number?”

“Did you think you were safe from me in Iowa? Did you think I wouldn’t find you if you ran?”

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Celina was up and moving—no direction at first, but moving all the same thanks to a sudden rush of adrenaline. She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and reached for her yoga pants. The clothes she’d worn the previous night were lying neatly folded on the couch. Her gun rested on top of the pile.

She slipped a T-shirt over her head, wanting to hang up—to sever the hold Emilio suddenly had on her through the phone line—but stopped herself. She grabbed the gun out of its holster and paced to the picture window to look out. The snow had stopped and the traffic lights below blinked their colors over empty streets packed white. Several cars parked along the street curbs were running, exhaust floating in the icy air in clouds as their owners brushed snow and scraped ice.

Taking a quiet breath, Celina forced herself to stay calm. Emilio Londano was not outside. He was four hundred miles away in a maximum security penitentiary. And apparently, he’d bribed a guard for a ten minute call.

But where was Cooper?

“I don’t dream about you, Emilio.” Her voice sounded strong.
He has no hold on me.

Moving around her small apartment, she double checked locks and looked for the note she was sure Cooper—the lousy rat—had left her. “And I didn’t run from California,” she added, knowing that Emilio loved to play intimidation games. He wanted to scare her, but she knew he couldn’t hurt her.

Cooper, on the other hand … Celina shut down the sudden pain in her chest. “The Bureau transferred me to Des Moines. A job transfer, that’s all. It had nothing,
nothing
,” she emphasized the word again, “to do with you.”

Emilio chuckled. “Ah, Celina. The consummate liar. You’re very good at it. Do they teach you that in the FBI?”

Her reply was curt. “Among other things.”

There was a sound on Emilio’s end, like a match striking. She heard him inhale, wondering where this conversation was going, wondering when he took up smoking cigarettes. For him it had always been cigars, Cuban. Cigarettes were another hazard of prison life, she supposed.

“So they teach you how to carry an alias and lie,” he said on the exhale. “How to hold a gun to a man’s heart after you’ve fucked him over. But what do they teach you about fear?”

She leaned her back against the wall, a path of sweat icing her spine. This time she gave him the truth. “They teach you to face it. Overcome it. Use it.”

“Is that what you’re doing right now?” Another inhale. “Pacing around your apartment, checking locks. Are you facing your fear of me, Celina?”

Her breath stopped in her chest as her brain fired a clear warning to her body.
How would he know I’m pacing and checking locks?
Pushing off the wall, she took the safety off her gun. “Where are you?”

Emilio made a noise in his throat, a guarded laugh. “Does the FBI teach you about revenge?” His voice was soft again but no less dangerous. “Do they teach you how to avoid falling into the hands of the criminal you sent to prison? The man who is now so close he can smell you?”

Every cell in Celina’s body froze. This had to be a game. “What do you want?”

Emilio’s next words caught her off balance, almost sent her to her knees. “Your boyfriend is outside shoveling snow. I’m going to slice his throat and then,” the low laugh again. “I’m coming for you. You, I’ll take more time with.”

Forcing her knees to hold her up, Celina raised her gun and pointed it at the door, already moving to open it. “Goddamn it, Emilio, where are you?”

The only answer she got as she opened the door was the faint smell of cigarette smoke as the line went dead.

Tripping down the stairs, Celina hit the front door at full speed, gun raised. The sun was clearing the horizon, clouds dimming its light. It was cold, damn cold, but Celina only felt the cold inside her, fingers of dread closing around her heart. Cooper’s black SUV was still parked halfway down the block where he’d left it last night behind her Civic.

“Cooper!” she screamed as her bare feet sunk in six inches of white fluff. She turned in circles scanning the sidewalk, the street, the rooftops of the buildings, the gun following her gaze. “Cooper!”

A motor was running a few yards away. Linda was vigorously scraping ice off the windshield, but stopped when she saw Celina running toward her. “What are you doing out here in your pj’s?”

“Linda, get in the building. Now.”

Snow sailed through the air into the street and then Cooper’s head appeared on the other side of Linda’s car. His eyes took in her face and her drawn weapon. “What’s wrong?”

There was a man walking down the sidewalk, covered from head to toe in Carhartt coveralls, a red knit cap, and a scarf wound around his face. The only thing Celina could see were his eyes, slit against the cold and watching her intently. He slowed his pace and eyed her gun. His hands were buried in his pockets.

“Stop,” Celina commanded, training the gun on him.

BOOK: Deadly Pursuit (SCVC Taskforce)
12.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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