Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice) (15 page)

She reached back and double tapped his thigh with her hand. Immediately he let go and she retreated to her original position on the couch. She looked even more vulnerable as she stroked her kiss-swollen lips, but the shivering was over.

"How did you manage not to pass out?" he asked.

"Guess you don't kiss as well as you think." Then she smiled, at least with one side of her pouting mouth. "Temper appears to be an effective defense."

"So your defenses are getting stronger too?"

"They must be," she said, obviously giving the idea some thought. "Sit down," she ordered.

He humored her, deciding it might be the fastest way to get his own answers. "Will you let me try something?" she asked softly.

"Will it hurt?" he joked to cover his nerves. The determined glint in her eye made her outstretched hands less inviting.

"Let's hope not." She shifted, crossing her legs and bracing her elbows on her knees. Extending her palms, she invited him closer. "Let me hold your hands."

Again, he complied and tried to blank his mind against whatever she was up to.

He watched her eyelids close and her breathing quiet. Her hands grew warm under his and he struggled to think of nothing at all.

"Relax," she murmured.

He didn't reply. His mind filled with frustration and temper. He was in the heat of his last mission, fighting for his life along with his team. He was looking for survival solutions.

The assault on the barracks of a unit supposedly answering to Kristoff had gone to hell almost from moment one. Either the entire unit had super-human reaction time or they'd been alerted to the attack.

Juicing aside, Gideon believed in the latter scenario and felt the sting of betrayal as clearly here on the couch as he had that gruesome night.

It should've been an easy in and out. Suppress, subdue, take samples, and retreat. But Kristoff's men weren't sleeping. They were awake and ready. When an unseen sentry sounded the alarm, Gideon, his team, and the plan were tossed into chaos.

His muscles twitched reliving the hand-to-hand combat that dislocated his shoulder. He jerked, when a bullet sliced through his side. His chest heaved, drawing oxygen for the race to safety with the only critical sample in his hand.

Then suddenly the scene changed. He was looking down at his body from the vantage point of the surgeon working to repair the damage. Under the bright lights, lasers cleaned and sealed the wound in his side as two men wrestled his shoulder back into place. They applied a supportive net to the joint and Gideon recoiled. He'd come to hate that thing and its supposedly healing bursts of electricity.

"Let me help." It was Petra's voice in his head. She stood by his side, her hand spread wide over the net on his shoulder. The prickling sensation eased and he relaxed, letting go of the mnemonic pain that lingered in his muscles.

He felt her guide him through those first weeks of hellish therapy, into his annoying assignment of watching her, all the way to the night in his suite when she helped him remove his sub-dermal pager.

He yanked his hands away, but when their eyes locked, he knew she'd seen his base attraction to her.

She didn't look troubled or confused. She looked positively smug. It radiated from her like an inner light and he leaned into it like a foolish moth.

This time when their lips met, it was instantly mutual. She sighed and wound her arms around his neck. He pulled her along as he leaned back until her soft curves melted into the full length of his body.

Whatever she'd done, he craved her with a fiery intensity he wasn't about to deny. He tugged her shirt up to find her smooth, hot skin, skating his hands up her rib cage. She shivered and gave a sweet moan that spurred him on. He wanted to possess all of her, all at once.

She sat up, straddling his hips and peeled off her top. His blood surged in his veins and he reached up to caress her breasts.

He found her breathtaking and felt her triumph as his own. Her hands boldly stroked his chest through his shirt and it wasn't enough. Lunging up, he let her pull it off and toss it to the floor, then he drew her down with him to set his mouth to her breast through the lace of her bra. The nipple puckered eagerly and he thought he'd lose it right then.

Her hands cradled his jaw and her soft lips peppered his face with gentle kisses he suspected were supposed to calm him, but only stirred him more. Her every motion beckoned him to
explore, take, and indulge. Every place their bodies met, every point of contact wound him tighter, swept him along the relentless tide toward ultimate satisfaction

She jerked her way out of her bra and he filled his hands and mouth with her creamy flesh, feeling more invincible with each gasp and cry she gave him. She worked them both free of their pants and legs tangled as they shoved them out of the way, his erection leaping impatiently at the tiny lace barrier that remained between them.

Was her sultry laughter in his head or his ears, or both? It didn't matter. He tore away her panties and she slid onto his shaft with equally passionate intent.

He clutched her hips as she found a rhythm
tormentingly sweet. He groaned and reared to grind against her. Then he slipped his thumb between them, delighted with her gasp of pleasure as he teased her into a frenzy that sizzled in his blood as well.

She arched and crested, her velvet heat gripping him, drawing out the pleasure until he climaxed, too.

Still joined, she settled on his chest, her rain scented hair silk against his cheek and her soft breath a warm tease against his neck. It was the first and best peace he'd felt in far too many years.

Too many hard years of intrigue, battle and the pursuit of intangible but vital concepts like dignity and freedom. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder as Gideon calmed his thoughts. He didn't want to disturb her, didn't want to break the gift of this precious moment.

He'd chosen a way of life in order to make a difference in a convoluted world. And his life had taught him that peace like he felt now was the only prize worth dying for.

Petra woke, unsure how long she'd been sleeping, to a vivid understanding of the term boneless. She couldn't recall ever feeling so lax, so luxurious, so deliciously spent, and complete.

She should probably feel embarrassed, ashamed or some other guilt typically assigned to good girls gone astray, but she couldn't summon the energy. Truth was it felt good to be here with him, though she didn't quite know what to say or how to gracefully extricate herself from their intimate tangle. Unable to resist, she nuzzled into his neck, relishing the touch of his beard against her skin. Who knew the combination could bring such unique pleasure in unexpected places?

"What time is it?" she asked.

"About morning, I'd guess."

His soft chuckle rumbled through her and she shifted to stroke his side where the bullet had entered. "This healed nicely. Does it still hurt?"

"You can't tell?"

He was teasing. She smiled, enjoying the casual, relaxed connection. "Just from experience I'd say it twinges a little but it didn't get in the way."

"What sort of experience do you have with gunshot wounds?" He stretched his arms, lacing his fingers behind his head. She admired the view of that broad chest, tracing the map of muscle and scars.

"Just second hand.
I've worked with officers shot in the line of duty and civilians injured or recuperating." She reached back, using her jeans to blanket her cool legs.

"You've seen too much," he said, snuggling her to his side and kissing her hair.

His sweet tenderness undid her. Should she tell him he was the first man she'd experienced fully with her soul and her body? The massive implications stopped her. Their explosive joining was just a natural result of physical attraction compounded by his daring to open himself to her. She was a big girl and could accept that she'd jumped him. Sex didn't have to result in a woman going mushy, but for just a moment it was wonderful to pretend that she could be part of something lasting and precious.

"Petra?"

"Hmm?" Her mind wandered further along the sweet, personal path she conjured.

"How do you help injured people?"

"I only draw off the pain."

"Where does it go?"

"What?"

"The pain you draw off."

The question brought her back to reality with an abrupt thud. Temper threatened. That new, irrational temper she'd never known, and fought to reconcile with who she knew herself to be. She took her time, working to cage it, to think rationally instead of going off on him.

Had he played her just to get laid? Or had he pleasured her just to loosen her up enough to explain what she was? Countless therapists and doctors had tried, through more conventional and ethical practices, and she'd never been able to give a precise explanation of her skills. Now, with her empathy magnified, her gift apparently morphing or strengthening, she only had that much more she couldn't define.

"Do you send it into something else like an animal or–"

"I couldn't cause an innocent animal pain." She sat up, chilled, gathering her clothes around her. "That'd be cruel." This interview, experiment, whatever he called it, needed to cease.
Immediately.

"Why can't you explain it?"

"Why can't you accept it?" she countered.

"Because it doesn't make sense."
He sat up too, oblivious to his nudity. "Desperate people search out psychics who tell them what they want to hear. Grieving relatives beg mediums to find out where Dead Aunt Sarah left the winning lottery ticket. Why do you, an empath, comb crime scenes for emotions? It can't be a positive experience."

She held her tongue, assuming his uninspired litany was rhetorical. She gathered her clothes and stalked into the bathroom to clean up and regroup.

As much as she'd like to blame Gideon for annoying her, she should know the answers. Why did she seek crime scenes when volunteering at hospitals or schools would probably be more pleasant? It wasn't the pay. Which left excitement, acclaim, and job satisfaction.

She did more than point Kincaid in the right direction like some psychic bloodhound. Her office was full of petitions and testimonials to her success. She helped people find things–sometimes material, sometimes not. To date, she'd never worked a case as trivial as a lost lottery ticket. Her favorite cases were those when she helped people reconnect. That's why the kidnapping cases that had brought her to Chicago were especially dear to her. Knowing those girls and women were safe again, headed back to reclaim their lives,
meant something to her. People mattered. She'd specifically applied her skills where people would benefit most.

Stepping out of the ionic shower, she did a grateful double take. Her suitcase was sitting just inside the door. It was no small measure of comfort to have
her own toothbrush and a variety of clean clothes. Choosing a fresh shirt and slacks, she revved herself up to face Gideon again.

Why did he have to demand answers she didn't have? Hadn't she just proven her priorities by helping him? She'd given herself to ease his pain. She'd scoured his mind, freeing it of painful baggage so he could move forward.

A remnant of his stark memories rushed into her mind. Nathan's face, smeared with camouflaging grease, one eye fitted with a night vision site as he fired a suppression pattern to get Gideon to safety.

They knew each other. They'd been together in fieldwork far removed from Nathan's safe public life behind a desk. She shivered. Everyone had secrets, why should her brother be different? Nathan might fire a weapon in the line of duty, but that didn't make him a murderer.

Is that why Gideon was assigned to her–to watch for contact from Nathan? Did Gideon want to prove her brother's innocence or his guilt? Nathan had told her to trust Gideon, but how could she trust a man who hid so much of himself?

Petra finger-combed her hair, staring into her mirrored eyes, but seeing the rich depth of her brother's.
The questions kept coming in rapid-fire succession, none of them with answers. Was she a clone, a mere shadow of Nathan? Were her gifts her own, or just hollow reflections of his strengths? What did Gideon know about Nathan's talents? Did he know where Nathan was imprisoned?

Gideon probably knew a lot of the answers she wanted. She got the sense he knew all sorts of details he wasn't sharing.