Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (19 page)

“I’d love to have a dog,” Kelsey said. “But I feel the same.

My training was hard, proving myself was hard—I didn’t want to get a dog and ignore it. I’d like some big old mutt.

Just a big lovable hound that wants to be loved and petted when I come home, and that I could take to a park or…

well, we don’t even know if this whole team will work, or if it does, where we’ll be.”

“And I took you for the Yorkie-poo type,” Logan said.

“Oh, really!” she said, laughing, because he was obviously teasing her.

“I don’t have your experience,” she said a few minutes later. “In law enforcement or in life. But I’m good at what I do.”

“I’m sure you’re good at everything you do,” he told her.

He’d spoken the words casually, but his voice had a rasp that they both heard, and it seemed to turn the words into a double entendre that she knew he hadn’t intended. He stood with a wry grin of apology. “Chili should be hot by now, and I’m starving.”

“Me,

too.”

She rose to join him. In the kitchen, while he took the chili from the stove, he instructed her to grab the instant IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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rice from the microwave, which she did. Then she chopped tomatoes while he washed and broke up a head of lettuce.

They sat at the kitchen table and said very little for a while, except when Kelsey took the time between mouthfuls to compliment him on his chili.

“Ah, well, Rangers come from a long tradition of survival in the wild,” he reminded her. “Stephen Austin brought the first three hundred legal American colonists into Spanish Texas after his father died, soon after receiving an
empresar-ial
grant to colonize. They were known as the Old Three Hundred, and they were on dangerous frontier ground, so he created an informal group for protection—the Rangers. Poor Austin had barely gotten started when Mexico gained its independence from Spain and the land grant was rescinded. There was trouble ahead for sure. So, the original Rangers were out there…ranging. Watching for outlaws, Indian attacks and bad men, protecting Austin and the colonists. They had to learn to forage.” He grinned.

“Any self-respecting Ranger has to know how to cook.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to be anything less than self-respecting,” Kelsey said with mock seriousness.

“What about you?”

“I can cook,” she assured him. “At least, I’m great with a microwave.”

He laughed softly, but set his fork down, having finished his meal. “How did you know which plywood cover to pick up today?” he asked unexpectedly.

She grimaced. “I wish I could say I’d heard something, that Vanessa Johnston was reaching out of the ground for me.” She raised one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Okay, I IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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wish I could say that, but only to you. I noticed the birds.

Is that crazy, or what?”

He shook his head. “Strange, when I was meeting Jackson Crow—and you—I had an incident with a bird. There were birds everywhere. Although I’m not a superstitious man and I’ve learned a lot of different beliefs, I thought it might be an omen at first, or a warning. Now…maybe it’s just because they’re drawn to carrion, but the birds seem to be helping us out. I don’t know… . Crazy or not, it was a bird that dropped Vanessa’s finger in front of us, telling us she was out there to be found.”

Kelsey didn’t speak for a minute.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her quietly.

She was surprised by the tone of his voice. She looked across at him and studied his face. It was such an attractive face—strong, with good bones, piercing eyes, the bronze texture of his skin. She liked everything about his appearance. But attractive men were numerous; with Logan, she realized, there was more. Even when he irritated or angered her, there was something about him that compelled her.

Dangerous,
she told herself.

But she knew he was attracted to her, too, even if it was just physical. In their few days together, they’d formed a strange kind of bond.

Yes, there are times when we can both communicate with the dead.

We’ve touched a corpse, and felt the voice of her soul calling out.

And we share a ghost at the Alamo now, a man who died more than
a hundred years ago.

Logan was looking at her. She hadn’t answered his question.

“When we heard about Vanessa, I thought maybe we IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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were brought together to save a life. Justice for the dead is so important, but I suppose I wanted to believe we were coming together to protect and save the living.” He nodded. “We still may,” he said. “We haven’t caught this killer yet. He may have other victims in his sights—he probably does—and we’re on it now.”

“We don’t even have any suspects,” she murmured.

“Trust me, we will.”

He sounded confident. Kelsey watched him, knowing he wouldn’t stop—whether their team was formed or not, whether he became a fed or stayed with the Rangers or worked freelance—until he found the man who had com-mitted these crimes.

“I believe you,” she whispered.

She would never know whether it was the simple words they exchanged, or something about that evening or the way they looked at each other. She would never even know if she’d moved to kiss him first or if he’d moved to kiss her.

It hadn’t been a romantic night. There were no roses or candles, no movie with dinner or a walk on the beach… .

But maybe it wasn’t romance. Maybe it was more basic than that—the straightforward urgency of need.

Somehow they were suddenly locked in an embrace, a sweet touch that seemed to burn through limbs, that answered longing. He knew how to kiss, not with force but with confidence, and the feel of his mouth covering hers was an unbearable aphrodisiac. She parted her lips to his, hungry to explore everything about him, and before she realized how it had happened, they were both standing, tearing at each other’s clothes. Their guns and holsters were the IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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first to go. It wasn’t until then—when she recognized what she was actually
going to do—
that she became conscious of the dirt and grime of the day. Some semblance of shyness tried to invade the hunger that surged through her with such insistence, almost as if she’d been without water for days, and she had to drink or die.

“I’m filthy,” she whispered.

“I do have a shower,” he said.

He hopped along, tugging at his boots as they headed from the kitchen down the hall to the shower. Her own pumps were kicked aside and he groped for the water while she struggled out of her suit trousers. Hot steam filled the bathroom. She caught sight of them both in the misting mirror just before it completely fogged. She thought there was something oddly right about the way they looked together. He was dark and she was pale, and her hair was streaming down over his fingers and they were close, so close.

“Birth control?” he asked.

“Taken care of,” she said.

He dragged her into the shower, pulling the curtain around them, and the spray of the water seemed to enhance the feel of his lips, his tongue within her mouth, the touch of his hands upon her.

For a moment, as they were locked in a kiss with the water showering over them, she felt a panic rise within her.

He was still in love with his wife.

She was a substitute for a dead woman.

She wanted to cry out. She wanted to look into his eyes, deny nothing, but insist that he call her by name, acknowl-IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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edge the fact that he was with
her.
It was all she wanted.

No declarations of love or even caring, just the acknowledgment that she was Kelsey O’Brien, she was f lesh and blood and she was here with him
now.

But she said nothing. She felt the searing fire of the water again, or the fire that was inside him, the liquid heat of his lips on hers, and she let the thought slip by because she wanted to be where she was. She felt his hands on her breasts and between her thighs and the hot, slick feel of his dark hair as he bent against her, mouth and tongue over one breast and then the other. She clung to him, her fingers sliding against his back and digging into his buttocks. She would’ve said just moments before that she hated showers, that she was tall, that the shower was slippery, that it was far from her fantasy of making love. But he was strong and powerful, and she wasn’t afraid—and it didn’t seem at all bizarre that they hardly played in the water before he lifted her easily and she slid down onto him as if they’d rehearsed it all as a dance. She felt the tile behind her, and his movements against her and inside her, and she was aware of only the running water, the force of her own movements and his. Finding his mouth again as they thrust and writhed, feeling the explosiveness inside her, that was sweeter than she’d imagined possible… .

She climaxed with a shattering sensation she’d never experienced before. She’d been with other men, of course—in particular one Key West cop she’d thought she loved until their relationship ended a few months ago. But the intensity of these emotions, these sensations, was new to her.

She felt Logan shudder as he finished, and then he held her IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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close, still inside her, and she felt again the surge of water.

She didn’t know what to say or do so she said something ridiculous, whispering in his ear.

“We might have gone for some soap, as well, you know.” He chuckled, easing her down, making sure she didn’t slip.

“I have soap,” he said, and reached for it.

It might have been awkward; they might have stared at each other, naked in a shower, and realized what they’d done.

She could have spoken then… .

But she still didn’t. He took the soap, and spun her around, caressing her with it. And she stood, feeling the water, feeling his touch, and it was so good and sweet again that she didn’t dare think, didn’t dare breathe. Until the friction she felt began to grow into something else, and she turned toward him, seizing the soap, and touching him slowly in return. She savored the feel of his f lesh beneath the suds, and teased his body as he had teased hers, watching the movement of her hands against him, savoring the rise of his erection to her erotic touch—and wondering how such incredible passion and intensity could have escaped her all her life.

He kissed her while hot water sluiced the soap from them both. Then he lifted her into his arms and fumbled to turn off the taps. He carried her, dripping from the shower, down the hall. They stumbled onto his bed in the dark, and he began to kiss her again, taking his time. She tore at his shoulders and hair, and pulled him to her, then crawled over him, lying against him as she made her way down the IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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length of his body, squirming and arching as she returned every last kiss. He took her in his arms and brought her to him, and as they made love that time, they twisted and turned, each atop and each below, panting and gasping and whispering incomprehensible words of pleasure until, once again, it seemed that the ground beneath them trembled and the heavens above exploded.

Kelsey lay against him, gasping for breath, hearing the pounding of her heart and his. Slowly, slowly, she began to notice the damp sheets. As she felt her heart calm, she realized she was still entwined with him. They both lay there in a silence so long she thought he was asleep, and she tried to ease herself from the sprawl of their limbs.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t live here,” she said. “I have to get back to the Longhorn.”

“But you don’t live there, either,” he told her.

She was ridiculously happy that he wanted her to stay the night.

“If Sandy knows I never came back, she might worry, and she’s got enough on her plate right now,” Kelsey said.

“You could call her.”

“I could, but it’s more than that. I’m not sure why—

maybe because of you—but I feel it’s important that I stay in Room 207,” Kelsey said. “I really have to go,” she added.

“Thank you for a really wonderful night.”

“Aw, think nothing of it, Marshal O’Brien. Thank
you
for a wonderful night.”

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He’d used her name. Well, he’d called her Marshal O’Brien, and only when it was over, but that still pleased her.

“Have to collect all my clothing,” she said, and rose.

He followed her after a moment, dressed in nothing except jeans, and she thought he looked as attractive as ever, but younger somehow. He helped her, finding one of her lost pumps, then headed to the bedroom door, searching for his car keys.

“I don’t think you should leave, but if you feel you need to, c’mon, I’ll get you there safe and sound.”

“Thanks,” she said lightly.

He was silent as they drove through the streets.

“Actually, you don’t live that far from the Longhorn,” she said apologetically. “You didn’t have to come out. I like walking at night.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to go running back across the Alamo in the dark.”

“I’m a U.S. Marshal,” she said, as if he needed reminding. “I can fire my weapon, and I got excellent marks at the range, you know.”

She saw that he was serious, although his eyes were intent on the road as he drove. “I don’t doubt that. But I don’t like what’s going on. Each of these women was obviously taken by surprise. That can happen to
anyone—
any man or woman. I don’t like to think about you, or anyone, really, taking chances until we understand what we’re up against.” She looked ahead. “Well, then, thanks for the ride.” He pulled up in front of the Longhorn. It wasn’t rowdy IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012