Hard to Come By (12 page)

Following Eastern toward the water, they didn’t talk, but it was a comfortable silence. The kind he rarely found, and then only with people he’d known for much longer. Ahead, the skyline shined with the harbor lights and the lit triangular glass of the National Aquarium.

Emilie tugged on his hand. “Is that a lighthouse?” she asked.

He looked toward the water, where some sort of building appeared to sit up on stilts. “I don’t know. I’ve never explored here before,” he said. “Let’s go see.”

Her smile was instant and made the yearning burn more brightly inside him. Maybe after all this, they could have something? They could
be
something?

Although the list of things standing in front of that possibility was so damn long.

At the far end of the pier was indeed a lighthouse. The red circular building stood atop black iron legs, with the light itself projecting out of the top of the roof. It had a charm about it that read old, and it had almost certainly come from somewhere else. A sign on a locked gate at the bottom of the stairs confirmed
that and read, “Seven Foot Knoll Lighthouse, c. 1855, moved to this location 1988.”

“Wow, this is gorgeous,” Emilie said as they walked around the outside of the building, the sound of the water lapping against the pier providing a backdrop. “I love lighthouses. I collect little figurines of them.”

“Do you have this one?” he asked. She shook her head. “Why do you love them?”

They came back around to the locked staircase again, and Emilie grabbed onto the railing and looked up. “I guess . . . they’re romantic, I think. Places from another era. And so tied to the water. I think of the keepers who used to live in them, and wonder what it would’ve been like to ride out a storm or a fog so thick you could only hear the water all around you.”

Drawn in by the passion and imagination of her words, Marz came up close behind her and braced his hands on the railing beside hers. The position brought his front up tight against her back. The contact sent an electric jolt through his body. Marz was playing with fire. He damn well knew he was. But that didn’t make him want to pull away.

He just wanted more of the heat.

Marz nuzzled the side of her face with his nose, his lips. “Emilie,” he whispered.

She turned her face toward him and offered her lips.

He couldn’t refuse.

Capturing her mouth on a tortured groan, Marz poured every ounce of his longing and confusion and desire into the kiss. They grasped at each other and Emilie turned in his arms. He pinned her against the railing and planted his hands in her hair. She opened to him and accepted his tongue, sucking him in until Marz’s blood ran hot and his hard-on ached. He ground
himself against her and devoured every little moan and whimper and gasp she spilled.

Trailing kisses from her mouth to her jaw to her ear, Marz dragged a hand down her body and grasped her breast in his palm. She cried out and her head dropped back, drawing his mouth to her neck, where he licked and sucked and nipped as he kneaded her soft flesh. “You are so damn sexy.”

Her hand flew to his hair and grasped the back of his head. “Touch me,” she said. “Don’t stop touching me.”

Marz pulled away long enough to do a three-sixty scan. The lighthouse cast a dark shadow over them, and the pier was otherwise empty. His heart raced and his pulse hammered. He dove back in, trailing kisses down her neck to her collarbone, which he traced with his tongue. Her nails scratched deliciously at his scalp and her grip urged him down.

Through the thin material of her blouse and bra, he mouthed and flicked at her nipple. He shifted the deep vee of the neckline to reveal a lacy royal blue bra. He tongued her through the lace until she was panting and moaning and writhing against the railing.

“Oh, my God,” she rasped as he shifted her shirt and moved to her other breast. This time, he tugged the lace down to bare the deep pink of her nipple. She tasted and smelled like something fruity and sweet, and it made Marz hunger for more. “Derek,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Her palm cupped and squeezed the bulge of his erection through his jeans. His hips jerked into the touch, craving more of her, all of her. He groaned and it seemed to egg her on, because she pressed and rubbed her hand against his trapped cock until he was panting and imagining taking her down to the ground.

“Jesus, Emilie, you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he said as he worked kisses back up her body to her mouth.

“I know just what you mean,” she said. Her molten hot gaze met his. Eyes hooded, lips shiny and swollen, cheeks flushed, she was a freaking goddess standing under the moonlit sky. He felt the force of her beauty every bit as much in his chest as in his cock.

“You sure about that, babe?” he asked as he took her mouth in a deep, wet kiss. “Because my imagination has me stripping you of those fuck-hot jeans.”

“Yeah?” She rubbed his cock in a long stroke with the heel of her hand. “Mine has us getting a room at the hotel back there. So I’m sure,” she said with a smile.

Marz’s heart hammered against his breastbone and his cock jerked, clearly liking her idea, too. Except, if he took her up on it, he was going to end up buried inside her for as long as she’d have him. And so long as this clusterfuck of a situation defined their relationship, he couldn’t take things that far. Could he? No. Goddamnit, what was he doing? The haze of lust made it hard to think and easier to push the question away.

But maybe he could give her something.

Claiming her lips in another kiss, he ran a firm hand down the front of her body until he cupped the hot space between her thighs. She moaned and rocked into his touch, like she was as desperate for him as he was for her. He rubbed his fingers over the seam of the denim until she was moaning and pushing her hips forward into his hand. Their hands and arms bumped and rubbed in the tight space between them.

Boxing her body in tight against the railing, Marz leaned his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes. “Does this feel good?” he asked as he continued to tease and rub.

Her breath caught and she gave a fast nod. “Oh, yeah. So good.”

He flicked his tongue over her lips, loving the way she attempted to capture it. “I bet you’re really fucking hot here,” he said, pressing a little harder between her legs to make sure she knew exactly what he was saying.

“Yeah,” she said in a breathy little gasp that made him thrust against her palm.

“Bet I could make you feel even better,” he said, sucking her bottom lips between his and giving it a little nip.

“Please,” she said, one hand fisting around the side of his shirt.

The word speared through him, spiking his pulse and turning his cock to steel. “Right here, Em? Right now?” The very idea turned his blood molten and silenced every bit of argument against taking this even one step further.

Her body trembled everywhere they touched. She stared at him a long moment, and then she nodded. “Here,” she breathed.

Marz had enough presence of mind to do another visual sweep of the end of the pier, and, finding it empty, he tugged the button free at the top of her jeans. Her eyes widened, like she was surprised, or excited. Watching her carefully for any sign of reluctance, he drew down the zipper slowly. One metal tooth at a time.

“Shit,” she said. “Hurry. I need it. Need you.”

Her urgency had every part of him achy with desire. “Yeah?” he asked as he skimmed his palm down the curve of her belly and into her panties. His fingertips encountered a soft patch of hair and then hot, slick feminine flesh. “Oh, you do need it, don’t you? You’re so wet for me.” He circled his fingers over the top of
her sex and devoured the string of little whimpers and moans and pleading words that spilled from her lips.

He could’ve lived on them.

She reached for his zipper, but Marz gently blocked her. “This is all for you, baby. I want to have all my wits about me when I watch you come.”

“Derek, faster,” she said, her hand reaching up to hold the railing above her. “Please.”

“Anything you need, Em.” Their lips so close they breathed each other’s air, Marz swirled his fingers right where he knew she needed them.

Moments later, every one of her muscles went taut. “Derek, I’m . . . oh . . .” The word died in her throat as she held her breath through the orgasm.

“Aw, yes,” he said. When her knees went weak, he wrapped an arm around her lower back to support her and slowly gentled his fingers.

She heaved a long, contented sigh. “Oh, my God. I’m lightheaded,” she said with a chuckle.

Marz grinned and withdrew his hand. “Yeah? I’m glad,” he said. And then he cupped her face and held her so she could watch as he sucked each of his three wet fingertips into his mouth. “Next time, you’ll come on my tongue,” he said. Somewhere, way far in the back of his mind, a very small part of him questioned the idea of a “next time.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said, pushing off the railing and wrapping her arms around his neck. He arched an eyebrow and nodded, loving that she wasn’t too shy to talk about this stuff. “Next time, you’ll come on
my
tongue, too.”

Which pretty much made “next time” a sure thing.

A
t her taunting words, Derek licked his lips. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” he said with mischief in his eyes.

“I hope you will,” she whispered against his ear. She wasn’t sure where this brave woman had come from, but Emilie liked her and hoped she stuck around. Jack had been conservative in the bedroom, so, over the six years they’d been together, Emilie had gotten used to censoring the way her mouth tended to run away when she was aroused. Apparently, that was done.

And thank God for that.

Derek gave her a hug and stepped back to right her clothing.

“I got it,” she said, smiling up at him. God, he was so freaking gorgeous, especially with arousal sharpening the angles on his masculine face. Arousal for her.

Well, this day sure has been full of high highs and low lows
, Emilie thought as she zipped and buttoned her jeans. Her heart panged for her patient, Cecelia. Derek was right. She’d been so damn young. The woman’s death filled Emilie with the urge to live. To embrace life. To not waste a single second.

And right now? She was as high as she’d been in a long, long time. And hearing what
else
Derek wanted to do? She was pretty sure he could take her higher.

She was certainly willing to let him try. No more waiting, no more questioning herself, no more fear.

She’d just had an orgasm out in public. Where anyone might’ve seen them. Or heard them. And it had been freaking phenomenal.

Taking a deep breath, Emilie stared up at the sky and let herself bask in the moment. Derek came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her belly. It was just a hug, but it made her feel special and cherished and . . .
not alone
for the first time in a long time.

“There are a million stars tonight,” Emilie said, gazing up at the star-brightened sky while he held her tight. Finally, she turned in his arms. They looked into one another’s eyes and slowly but surely she realized that he was moving them, rocking them, slow dancing with her under the stars. She smiled. Sexy, gave good orgasms,
and
romantic. “We don’t have music,” she said.

He grinned, grasped her hand, and started to sing. He picked up the pace, and the dance turned playful.

Emilie was smiling so big her cheeks hurt, and chuckling, too. Because cute as he was—and he was freaking adorable, really—his singing was . . . atrocious.

“And yoooou, my brown-eyed girl . . .”

When they got to the
sha la la’
s, Emilie joined in. And then they were both singing and dancing and laughing through to the end.

When they’d finished butchering the song, Emilie hugged him and grinned. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” he said, returning her smile.

“You give excellent orgasms.” His face totally lit up. She wrinkled her nose for this next part. “But, um, has anybody ever told you that—”

“I can’t sing?” he asked with an almost proud smile.

“Uh, yeah?”

Marz nodded. “All the time.” He shrugged. “I can’t hear it, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Emilie burst out laughing.

“But I love how you softened the criticism with the compliment. Very nice.”

She laughed so hard, tears sprung to her eyes. Happy tears, this time. “Derek, you’re a good guy,” she said when she finally calmed down.

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shuffled his feet like her compliment made him uncomfortable. “I’m just really glad you agreed to go out with me tonight, Emilie. I . . . I hope you know how much I mean that.”

“I do. And me too.”

He grasped her hand and they slowly walked back the way they’d come. Emilie didn’t think she was imagining that his limp was a bit more pronounced than she’d ever noticed it before.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked. He looked at her with a question in his eyes, so she nodded to his leg.

“Oh. Yeah.” He guided her over to the side of the pedestrian bridge and leaned against the thick cement
railing. “So, uh, I have this.” Derek grasped the leg of his jeans and tugged it up.

Shoe. Metal? Oh
. . .

“Oh,” she said, her brain processing the fact that Derek wore a prosthetic leg. Emilie glanced from the metal pole of his limb to his face, and she didn’t think she imagined that his gaze was a shade more guarded than before. Which made her heart hurt a little. Had people rejected him in the past for having an amputation?
Oh, my God, my leg rule!
Emilie gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. “Derek, I’m so sorry about what I said.”

“What do you mean?”

“My leg rule,” she rushed out. “I didn’t mean—”

He chuckled. “That was funny as hell. Don’t give it a second thought.”

Emilie breathed a sigh of relief, though she still felt bad. Open mouth, insert foot, much? “Is it bothering you tonight?”

“Not too bad,” he said, dropping his pants leg and standing upright again.

Emilie fitted herself against the front of him, her legs in between his, and rested her forearms on his chest. “Did it happen while you were deployed?”

His gaze was still observing her. “Yeah, Afghanistan.”

So, not just an amputation from an accident but from an injury received while in the service of his country. Another in a long and growing list of things to admire about this man. “I’m sorry,” she said, finding it totally inadequate but unsure what to say to bring back his jovial mood from minutes before.

Derek shook his head and shrugged. “It’s okay.”

An idea came to mind, and it made Emilie’s stomach
flip. But the longer she thought about it, the more she liked it. “So, I have an idea. But you totally don’t have to do it.”

His eyebrow arched and a bit of humor returned to his eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

Was she really ready for this? Emilie mentally brushed the question away. Inviting him didn’t equate to a lifelong commitment, for God’s sake. It was a summer barbecue. “If you’re not doing anything on Saturday, would you like to come to my house for my get-together?”

His eyes went wide. “But . . . it’s a family thing.” She didn’t know him well enough yet to know if what she heard in his voice was skepticism or wonder.

“It’s not just family, though. Some people bring friends, too.” When he didn’t say anything, Emilie shook her head. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought it might be fun—”

“No, it’s not that,” he said, rubbing his palms over her hands where they rested on his chest. “I don’t really have any experience with big families is all. Don’t wanna intrude.”

Emilie smiled and took a deep breath against the ache in her chest. She could almost feel his solitude radiating off of him. “You can’t intrude if you’ve been invited. Really.” She pulled one hand free and cupped the hard angle of his jaw. “You don’t have to answer now. Think about it and text me. I’d love to have you, but I’m being entirely honest when I say it’s okay if you’d rather not. For whatever reason.”

Derek looked into her eyes for a long moment and finally nodded. “I’d love to come. Count me in.”

M
ARZ WALKED IN
the back door of Hard Ink sure about three things. First, Garza worked for SWS. Second,
Emilie’s party remained their best shot at locating Garza. And third, there was no fucking way he could attend that party without her knowing the truth.

The guilt was eating him alive.

Marz wasn’t a dishonest person. He valued honesty and loyalty as much as any man could—and he’d seen firsthand what discarding those values could do. Hell, he’d experienced the fallout up close and personal. He was going to have to tell her what her brother was caught up in, and how that had led Marz to her.

As if his conscience wasn’t kicking his ass hard enough, her saying he was a good guy had been like a punch to the gut. It had nearly stolen the air from his lungs. And then she’d followed it up with an invitation to spend the day with her and her family. To be welcomed in and introduced to those she cared about most in the world.

He refused to sully something so special—at least to him—by laying it on a foundation of lies. He
had
to come clean. Because he liked her in a way he hadn’t felt in . . . maybe ever. And he wanted a shot.

Wasn’t he due?

And who knew. Maybe Emilie wouldn’t give him that shot. He couldn’t say he’d blame her if that’s how it shook out. But he wouldn’t know until he’d laid himself bare and asked for her understanding. And her forgiveness.

Which meant he needed to hash this out with the team. They were bound to have an opinion—one he was going to have to win over if it didn’t square with his own. But Marz couldn’t keep doing this. He shouldn’t have let himself develop feelings for Emilie. He knew that. He’d fucked up. But that horse had left the barn and there was no putting it back in.

He jogged up the metal-and-concrete steps to the second floor, punched in the key code, and entered the massive unfinished gym and found it unusually empty. Backtracking, he crossed the second-floor landing to the Rixeys’ apartment door and keyed in another code.

Jeremy had beautifully remodeled the loft-style apartment, which was warm and masculine with its brick walls and exposed beams in the high ceiling. Everyone was hanging out in the big, combined kitchen and living room, piled onto the couches and chairs, relaxing and watching a movie on the flat screen. Chinese take-out containers covered the wide kitchen island. When the door closed behind him, a few gazes swung his way and a round of greetings rose.

Marz walked up behind one of the recliners and clapped Nick on the shoulder as he glanced to the TV in time to see Will Smith’s character punch out an alien and welcome him to Earth. Ah,
Independence Day
. A classic.

“How was your night?” Nick said. Sitting on Nick’s lap, Becca smiled up at Marz.

“It was good. Real good,” he said.

“Learn anything useful?” Nick asked. At this, Beckett turned from his end seat on the closest of the two couches to listen in.

“I did. Kinda wanna chat about that, but it can wait til after the movie,” Marz said.

Beckett’s gaze narrowed. “We can pause it.”

Nick pressed a button on the remote and the room went silent. All eyes turned to him. And then Nick’s cell phone rang. “Ah, shit. Hold that thought,” he said. “It’s Miguel.” He accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Miguel. What’s up?”

Marz’s stomach dropped, instinct telling him there
was no good reason for Nick’s PI friend to be calling at almost eleven o’clock at night.

And, as the call went on, it became clear from this half of the conversation that the news wasn’t great. When Nick hung up, his gaze scanned the room. “Well, boys and girls. We’ve got four more murders in lovely Baltimore City tonight. One more mid-level Churchman, which follows in the wake of the two from Tuesday. Two people that police think were innocent bystanders. Wrong time, wrong place kinda thing. And one off-duty cop—a guy that the department’s internal affairs division has apparently been investigating for possible corruption.”

“So that’s three Churchmen down. Four, if you count Bruno. Five, if this cop was one of the guys in Church’s pocket,” Shane said from the corner of the far couch, Sara leaning against him. Bruno had been the high-level Churchman that had coerced Sara into a forced labor situation at the strip club. He’d also kidnapped Jenna in an attempt to make Sara give herself up after she’d run away—actions that had cost him his life.

“Who’s doing it, though? Did Miguel say?” she asked. Her fingers played nervously with the long strands of the red ponytail draped over her shoulder.

Nick nodded. “That’s part of why he called. They had a witness from one of Tuesday’s murders who said she saw a Hispanic man fleeing the scene. And they have security-camera footage from the scene of the cop’s murder. Another dark-haired man. Miguel said the ethnicity was unclear, but the guy’s hair was in a ponytail again, which was part of Tuesday’s description.”

“So, same guy,” Marz said, icy prickles running up his spine. “And he’s Hispanic.”

“Right,” Nick said. “Miguel’s contact at the department was going to send him a blowup of a still from the camera footage. He’ll fax it over when he gets it.”

A tense anticipation settled over the room, and then Beckett’s cell buzzed.

The guy frowned as he fished the phone from his jeans pocket and answered. “Yeah?” Pause. “We just heard.” Beckett put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “Jackson.” As in Louis Jackson, the guy in charge of the city’s task force on gangs who Beckett and Nick had met nearly two weeks before when Charlie had still been missing. Turned out Jackson was Charlie’s landlord’s son, and he’d been helping them get up to speed on the lay of the gangland. “Was afraid you were gonna say that,” Beckett said, and then he hung up.

“So, what’s the RUMINT?” Marz asked, his stomach now reaching for the floor.
For fuck sake, what now?

Becca frowned and whispered to Nick. “What’s RUMINT?”

Nick smiled, but Marz beat him to the explanation. “Sorry. Acronyms are an affliction once you’ve spent any time in the military. Rumored intelligence.”

“Right,” Beckett said. “Word on the street is that Church has gone deep, deep to ground because it’s an inside job. Someone’s picking off his Apostles. Church has offered a million-dollar bounty to anyone who brings him those responsible for the murders. Or the explosion at Confessions.”

Sitting on the floor between Jenna’s legs, Easy ran a hand over his close-trimmed black hair. “Which is interesting, since, as we all know, it wasn’t the same people.” Easy had been their weapons-and-explosives guy on the team, and it was his handiwork that had
destroyed Church’s strip club last Friday night during their mission to rescue Jenna from the gang’s clutches.

Marz nodded, his mind still stuck on the idea of the killings as an inside job. “I’m not the only one seeing the writing on the wall, am I?”

A ringing sounded from down the hall. “That’s the fax. Hop up, sunshine,” Nick said to Becca. She rose and he jogged down the hall toward his office. Becca, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top, busied herself collecting the dirty plates and cups from the dinner that sat on the coffee and end tables.