Dirty Deeds (11 page)

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"What for?"

So much for the sadness. That was all gone in an instant and her eyes now blazed. Yup, he'd called that one. It wasn't anger he heard in her words, it was outright fury. It wasn't only in her voice, it also flashed from her dark brown eyes. This was one pissed off bounty hunter. Oops, bail enforcement agent. Great, he was just kept messing up.

The truth was his best defense. It was his only defense. "I want to be with you in case you find Jamie," he said, hoping.

* * * *

Of all the stupid, crazy things. The damn man had followed her. Who exactly did he think he was? A better question was: what wrong with her? She'd been doing this a long time now and not once had she encountered something like this. Lazy and sloppy…not to notice a tail was inexcusable. Not to notice an amateur tail was unthinkable. If this kept up, it'd be time to find a new career. She was as ticked off at herself as she was with him.

Through the haze of her anger, a sudden, uncomfortable thought occurred to her.

"How long have you been following me?"

His gaze was steady. "Since you left the office."

"Since I left the office?" She sucked in a deep breath.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Great, just flipping great. So he followed her to Christopher's care center and then here. Was nothing sacred in this world? Damn, damn, damn. It pissed her off royally. Cute as he might be, Paul McDonald didn't have the right to invade her personal life. And, he really didn't have the right to invade on her brother's life.

Only a handful of people knew where to find Chris and that was for his own safety. The asshole who'd shot him was still out there. Until he was found, Chris had to be kept safe. She worked hard to protect him. To think she was followed so easily and that she was the one responsible for putting her brother in jeopardy yet again made her furious. An unforgivable lapse.

As if he seemed to read her thoughts, he said. "I didn't mean to pry into your life. I only wanted to be with you in case you find Jamie before I do. That's all, I swear."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. A hundred would be better. Ten would have to do. It worked, and the initial flush of fury dulled to a small roar. She opened her eyes again and met Paul's cool green ones. She could understand where he came from. If the shoe was on the other foot, she'd have done the same thing. If Chris was in trouble, she'd do whatever it took to help him. And wasn't that exactly what she'd been doing for the last five years?

She looked up at Paul and said, "It isn't a question of if, it's a case of when. I'll track down your brother and I'll bring him back to the feds."
And I'll know who tried to kill Chris.

Paul nodded. "Good."

She stood, blocking the open doorway. "You don't have to follow me. I'll let you know when I find him."

"I believe you."

"Then why not go back home?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel like I have to be here."

She wanted to stay angry with the man and couldn't. There was something very honest about him and it drew her in. His face was so sincere. She should probably remind herself that in his NHL days he was known an ice hockey hottie with women dripping off his arms. He'd be a pro at sweet-talking and he might be playing her now. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He seemed genuine and for the moment that was enough for her.

She should send him packing, so she surprised herself when she stepped aside and said, "Come on in."

She followed him through the open door and flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a warm luminescent glow. Even after all this time, she still wasn't accustomed to the quiet of her house at the end of a long day. After her initial stint on patrol, she'd spent her days on the force as a K9 officer and her dog, Butch, had lived with her. Butch was a fantastic drug dog, a seventy-five pound mutt she'd discovered at the Humane Society. Louie had been with Butch from day one, going through the training, the trials and the certifications. It was great, at least until Chris was shot. She left the force, but Butch hadn't. He was still working and she still missed him. The house seemed cold and empty without the spunky dog's company.

She could have gone out and found another dog to take the place of her canine partner. She hadn't; it wouldn't have been fair. The hours she kept now didn't lend themselves to sharing her life with a pet. There were times she didn't come home at all and she wouldn't subject a dog or a cat to that kind of loneliness. She dealt with it herself.

"Nice place," Paul said, looking around.

"Thanks." She tossed her coat on a chair, took off her gun and laid it on a table with her keys. "You want a drink?"

"Well…"

"Yeah, you do. What's your poison? You like bourbon? I have a nice bottle of Jack Daniels."

He gave her a small smile. "Jack would be great. You want me to build a fire? It's little cool in here."

"Yeah, that would be nice. There's kindling on the hearth and a couple of logs. You build the fire, I'll bring the spirits."

She left him at the hearth while she headed to the kitchen. She pulled a couple of glasses from the cupboard, checked them for water spots and then filled them with ice. The glasses in one hand, the bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, she returned to the front room. An admirable fire blazed in the fireplace. Not bad for a jock.
Who would have thought he'd be so good with a fire. What else is he good at?

The first drink went down easy and so did the second. Paul kept the fire warm and crackling while they talked like old friends for several hours. She sat on the floor in front of the hearth with her back against the sofa, the heat of both the bourbon and the flames lulling her into an easy relaxation.

Their glasses were almost empty when he got up to put another log on the fire. He didn't go back to the chair across from her. Instead he eased himself next to her on the floor. His long legs stretched out mere inches from hers, the nearness of his body sending a tingle down her arms. Had to be the Jack.

"Tell me about the rehabilitation center," he said, without taking his eyes from the blazing fire.

Louie put her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. The air was warm and filled with the fragrant scent of the burning tamarack. Beside her, his body added to the heat. Did she want to talk about Christopher to a man she barely knew? Did she want to talk about Christopher at all, especially after the news on the bullet?

An hour ago she'd have said no way, no how. That was an hour ago. In this time and this place, she wanted to tell Paul about her brother. There were times when not talking about Christopher made her feel as though she'd explode. Next to Paul, relaxed and comfortable, Louie began to talk and the words flowed as though this moment was meant to be.

After she finished, a thick silence fell between them. He reached over and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss into her palm. Her whole body quivered at the touch, his lips hot against her skin. She didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry." He kissed her palm again.

Tears welled in her eyes and she willed herself not to cry. It wasn't like her to allow emotion to rule; it had to be the booze. Except, if that's all it was, why didn't she pull her hand away? The answer, even through the fog of bourbon was simple. Because she didn't want to. The feel of his lips was heaven.

"I wish…" He continued when she said nothing. "That I could feel the kind of love for my brother that you do for yours." The sadness in his voice touched her heart.

She opened her eyes and studied his face. He was serious. He didn't believe he loved his brother any longer. She reached over and touched his chest with the palm of her hand. "You do, in here."

His green eyes were sad as they looked into hers, and he shook his head slowly. "No, I don't. It's just not there anymore."

Her hand stayed on his chest. She didn't believe it. His were not the eyes of a man who was cold and uncaring. She'd looked into eyes like that before. There were those who existed in the world whose hearts were, indeed, black. This man wasn't one of them.

"It is," she said. "It is."

He covered her hand with his and they stayed that way for a long moment. Then, he bent his head and kissed her, the touch of his lips as light as a feather. The sensation of his warm lips pressed against hers was unexpected, and at the same time, thrilling. She leaned into him and pressed her lips harder against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He tasted as good as he felt, and her pulse roared.

He pulled her close, a faint groan escaping his throat. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her arms came around his neck. Her fingers touched the long red hair, so full and soft in her hands. It was everything she imagined. She wanted more.

She was a little shocked when he leaned away from her and brushed a stray hair from her eyes. "I think we've both had too much to drink."

He was right. Even so, she longed to kiss him again and to let herself forget the rest of the world for a little while. She'd earned it and it had been such a very long time.

But, if she did, she'd be sorry in the morning. Corny as it sounded, she wasn't that kind of girl. Hook-ups just weren't her thing.

"Maybe," she whispered.

"I should go."

She leaned her forehead against his and said, "I don't think so. You, Mr. Hockey Stud, have had too much to drink and will not be driving yourself home. I'd feel horrible if you ended up with a DUI after I fed you all the bourbon."

A smile lifted his mouth and once again she was struck by how really attractive he was. Her blood roared when he looked at her like that. Maybe she should rethink her stance on one night hook-ups.

"I'll call a cab," he told her.

"No way. I have a very comfortable sofa right here. Besides, that way you can keep an eye on me. Wasn't that what following me around was all about?"

"That it was. Well, if you don't mind…" His beaming smile made her heart skip a beat.

Chapter Seven

It wasn't the brightest move he'd ever made and Paul felt it in every inch of his body. What in the world had they been they thinking last night when they'd cracked the bottle of Jack? Jesus, how many drinks had they downed? Might not be a great idea to look at the bottle to see what was left. Argh, his head felt like someone had tap danced on his skull all night. His mouth didn't fare much better. Someone had obviously snuck in and stuffed it full of cotton while he was asleep. If he was actually asleep—hard to tell the difference between passed out and sleeping.

God, he hated feeling like this. Precisely the reason he rarely drank. He wasn't the playboy type. Hanging out in bars, picking up women, and drinking like a fish weren't his style now or during the height of his glory. It looked good in the tabloids or in the entertainment blurbs of the popular online news reports. It wasn't so hot for an athlete who was serious about the game.

These days he was lucky if he drank a single beer in a week. His life was a haze of meetings, hockey practices, spunky young players, and, of course, financial reviews with his accountants, the bean counters and their spreadsheets. It took a lot of money to keep a farm team alive and there were many days when Paul wondered what kind of insanity had gotten into him the day he bought the team. At least until he was back out on the ice with the kids, who were so full of enthusiasm and joy for nothing more than the game itself. That's when he remembered why he'd bought the team and why he stayed even when it seemed like more than one man could handle.

Last night was a rarity for him. He couldn't remember the last time he sat alone with a woman and enjoyed good bourbon and conversation. Everyone always wanted something from him. When he'd played, the coaches wanted goals and the women wanted a star along with the spotlight that came with it. Now, the parents of his young players wanted him to make their sons stars. There was no such thing as a conversation without an underlying agenda.

Until last night. Sitting by the fire with Louie had been pleasant in spite of the tragedy that had brought them together. And there was no doubt, at least in his mind, his brother's rash actions fell into the category of tragedy.

The longer he sat beside her, the more he was intrigued by her rare beauty. She wasn't the model or the beauty queen type, she was something much better. Her skin was clear and fresh, her short hair dark and full of shine. He was fascinated by her eyes when she talked, mesmerized by the life that seemed to jump and roar in them. He'd wanted to kiss her from the beginning and when their lips finally did meet, man oh man it had sent a fire right into the old pants.

That she was a willing, almost eager, participant warmed him through. She was responding to him, not the NHL star, not the coach, but to the man. And it felt fantastic, at least until rational thought shoved its way into his brain and he'd opted to take the high road. It sucked, no doubt about it, but until he had Jamie by the scruff of the neck, he needed to focus on more important things than his libido. Jamie first, and then he'd have all the time in the world to see where things could take them.

Everything in its time and the time would be later when this unpleasant task was done. That seemed like a really good and lucid train of thought until he raised his head to see her standing in the doorway. In shorts and a plain cotton shirt, her long legs bare and golden, he just about swallowed his tongue. The high road was hard to take when a vision like that was a guy's wake-up call. One thing was certain, he wasn't about to stand up anytime soon. His eyes darted to the blanket and he raised one leg slightly. No need to broadcast what was going through his mind.

"Hey," she said with a small smile.

"Hey."

"I know you're not a coffee guy, so would you like some tea?"

"Yeah," he squeaked. Was that his voice
?
Great. So smooth. A little booze, a little kissy-face, and he turned into a guy with the nerves of a thirteen-year-old.
Get it together, McDonald.

"Be with you in a sec." She turned away and disappeared back through the doorway into the kitchen.