Return of the Dixie Deb (17 page)

“Oh, Mac.” Her parted lips found his neck and ear again.

He deposited her in a heap of sheets and pillowcases on the bed as he shed his shirt and unfastened his pants.

She half sat up, legs splayed. “I didn’t get the bed made. I forgot all about…”

“Right now.” He tugged on the legs of his damp jeans, sitting down to pull them off and extracting his wallet before he looped them over a bedpost. “Right now, sugar. I’m interesting in getting things laid, not made.” He extracted the foil packet from his wallet and tossed the billfold on the floor as he stood and opened it.

“So is your memory coming back? Remembering the Major’s?” He lowered himself down, bracing his arms on the piles of bedding, sinking into the smells of sunshine, fresh air, and girl.

“I’m beginning to.” Her arms went around him as her open mouth met his. Open, warm, and ready.

God, he loved big breasts. He knew he was sexist, but he loved the feel of them filling his hands, hard nipples surging upwards to meet his mouth.

Her hands clutched his hair, her lips kissing his neck as she made incoherent little sounds. She pulled back to lie on his arm, the dark, damp tangle of hair framing her face. He watched her hand explore his chest. She must appreciate the differences between them as much as he did. She reached lower to find him.

He moved her leg aside as he grasped both breasts.

“I’ve waited long enough for those legs around me. You ready, Jan?”

Her hand guided him toward her. He kissed the gathered rosiness of her breasts as she gasped. He slid his hands down.

Big breasts. Round, firm ass. I must have died and gone to heaven, he thought as the long legs encircled him.

****

He watched the long, dark lashes start to flutter as he traced the curve of her butt with a finger.

It seemed almost a shame to wake her as the soft rain dripped off the eaves outside in the gray dawn.

Another flutter, a shift toward him from the lethargy of her heavy sleep. His hand cradled her butt check slipping toward the dampness between her legs.

Mm. Her face turned, resting her lips and nose against his chest as she snuggled closer.

Almost a shame to wake her.

Her eyes opened to stare up into his.

Almost.

He found the packet on the floor again, extracted what he needed, and shifted toward her. He felt her lips on the side of his face, working their way down to his ear.

He swallowed and stroked her body. Ready, he took her face in his hands to push her back on the bedding and lower his mouth on hers, his tongue moving in to engage hers.

Damn
, he was primed to go now.

He moved back to increase the distance between them.

“Mac.” She thrust herself up, grinding herself against him.

Slow down
. Their first time might have set a speed record, but this time, she needed to pay the price for teasing him the other day. Acting like she didn’t realize he was watching her boobs bounce, her bare ass twitch under the thin cotton of her dress. There were consequences for stretching up to hang the clothes she’d washed, giving him a back view, her legs spread.

Oh, yeah, she had plenty to answer for and he had all the time needed in their little cabin in the woods to exact his price. Just the two of them and the rest of the night ahead.

He captured her wrists with a hand and pulled them over her head as a fork of lightning illuminated what he was doing.

Even better
. He could survey her naked body stretched out—big breasts, flat abdomen, soft darkness where it counted.

She tried to rise, but he settled her back with his other hand, his lips finding the side of her neck. He found his way down to a heavy breast, pulling it to his mouth. He licked her nipple and began a series of light kisses across the roundness beneath him. She moaned and wiggled against the mattress, her legs falling open.

“Mac, please, kiss…” She tried to move her nipple toward his lips. His mouth trailed kisses downward. He braced his free hand under her butt, kneading it firmly as he kissed her abdomen.

“Mac, I need to, I need you.” Her voice was thick.

“Don’t worry. You’re going to get what you need, Jan.” He spread her legs. “I’m going to give you another helping of what you’ve been needing since we met, girl.”

He caressed her. The effect was electric. She screamed, pulling her legs as far apart as she could.

“Please, please, now.”

He let his finger enter her, his thumb working her. He teased a nipple with his teeth.

She was moving under him, chewing her lower lip. He let himself tempt her, sliding his erection against her leg, watching as she twisted attempting to capture him.

“Easy, darlin’.”

Her eyes opened to plead with him.

“We’ve got plenty of time, Jan.”

“Mac, Mac, now. I can’t…” She bit her lip as he probed deeper.

“Now! Ah…” Her demands trailed off to a wail as she rubbed against his hand. It was all he could do to keep his grip on her wrists as she struggled to free herself. Her desperate strength was surprising.

“Please, please, ah.” Her voice broke as she began to pant.

There was nothing in the world for either of them now except what he was claiming.

Chapter Fourteen

The rapping on the door persisted. She struggled upright, pushing away the knot of bed sheets. Beside her, Mac stirred and rolled over onto his back.

“Mac?”

“Yeah, I hear.” He rubbed a hand over his face and raised an eyebrow. “Not great timing, huh?”

“We’re not exactly dressed for company.”

He lifted an arm and squinted at his watch. “After eight, I guess. Short night. Well, I better see who’s trying to wake the dead. Maybe our message got through.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, pushed himself up, and leaned out into the other room.

“Hang on. Be there in a minute.”

Naked, he bent down, raised her chin with a finger, and brushed her lips.

“So much for breakfast in bed.’ He pulled his pants off the bedpost. “Hell, these are still wet. I guess my Trout Farm overalls will do for right now. Do Etta and Louis need you at the café?”

“No, today’s Sunday, remember. It’s closed.” She combed her hair back with her fingers, stood, and wrapped a sheet around her. “I need my things too.”

Her jeans, shirt, and underwear had dried in the heat from the stove. She gathered them, scooped up her dress from the floor, and ducked back in the bedroom as Mac finished dressing.

So what was the emergency? She shut the door behind her and dropped her sheet. Mac didn’t seem worried. The police? Surely, they would have announced themselves before they pounded on the door. Did Maggie need Mac’s help down at the fish farm? She’d said it was a seven-day-a-week operation.

She fastened her jeans and pulled the shirt over her head. Every part of her ached and felt wonderful. The night had left her both exhausted and energized. Considering a month ago she’d been facing prison, she slipped on her shoes and opened the door, things for her had turned out pretty lucky.

Lucky?

She stared in puzzlement at Mac. He was backing up toward her, his hands in the air, a gun pointing at his abdomen.

“Keep moving,” someone growled.

She inhaled sharply, catching her lip with her teeth. She’d seen the gunman somewhere. In his fifties, he was tall and thin with stooped shoulders. He was wearing twill pants and a cotton shirt, an old hat pulled down over his ears. Had she seen him before in a business suit?

She swallowed.

“It’s all right, Jan.” Mac’s voice didn’t sound like he believed what he was saying. “Just do as he says.”

In Atlanta. Gordon Andrews. The man Mac had left the message for.

“You work for the I.R.S.”

“Apparently, that’s not all. I’m sorry, Jan. I thought Mr. Andrews could help get us out of this mess. I’m guessing now he has a vested interest in keeping this all covered up.”

“Sit down both of you at the table. And if you try to be a hero, McKenzie—” He swung the gun back at her. “The girlfriend gets it first.”

She backed up, feeling for a chair with her hand before her knees gave way.

“But you’re a C.P.A.,” she protested.

“Who began his career at the Bureau.” Mac sat down on the other side of the table, lowering his hand and reaching over to take her numb fingers in his strong ones. “What twenty-five years ago?”

“You’re catching on now, Special Agent.” Andrews bit off his words. “Blame Whit. If he’d been content to forget this one case, none of this would have had to happen.”

“He and Whittaker?” She looked at Mac. What was going on? Suddenly, her throat was dry.

“You two started out together? Only you played both sides.” Mac shook his head.

“The bastard had to keep digging away at it, couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

“So you planned to send Jan and me out in a blaze of glory and close the case, didn’t you?”

“Him?” She shook her head. Andrews looked so ordinary. None of this was making any sense. She felt like she had tumbled down a rabbit hole.

“Someone close to the investigation planted that bomb, Jan. Someone who knew where we’d be, then they watched and waited while we entered the bank. Only it was poor Jake who set off the device instead.”

“Nothing has gone right. Nothing in twenty-five years of misery since I made the mistake of getting involved with…”

What
!! She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, as the cabin door flew open behind Andrews. It hit the wall and rebounded before a figure holding a shotgun pushed it open again. Beside her, Mac jumped, staring at the two figures entering.

Maggie May and behind her…

She blinked. Miss Lily in a polyester pants suit? The two of them riding in together to rescue them? Things were getting stranger and stranger.

She turned to Mac happily. But he wasn’t smiling. Puzzled, she looked back at the women. Maggie’s shotgun was pointed not at Andrews, but at the two of them. As she looked up, Andrews seemed more irritated than surprised.

“Should have known you two would show up just to make the day complete,” Andrews growled.

“What?”

“Jan...” Mac gestured toward the newcomers. “I think we’re witnessing the reunion of the original Dixie Deb gang. Or what’s left of it.”

“Them?” She was bewildered. “Maggie was the Dixie Deb?”

“Magnolia?” Miss Lily swayed on the two canes she was supporting herself with and snorted. “That’ll be the day you get my sister dressed up like a lady.”

Her sister. The girls were all named after flowers, Dahlia had told her back at the Major’s. Maggie May. Magnolia Mayhew.

“No, that was our baby sister, Azalea, before she got too big for her britches and decided to light out on her own,” Maggie corrected.

“So what? Mr. Andrews was the driver?” She turned to Mac.

“I don’t think so,” Mac said slowly as the two sisters laughed humorlessly. “I think there was a reason why the Deb’s accomplice never spoke up, wasn’t there, Maggie?”

She gave him a nod. “At least you weren’t born yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah? For an F.B.I. man, he was stupid enough to leave this address when he asked for my help. What tipped you two off?” Andrews asked.

“Lily saw their pictures in the Montgomery
Journal
yesterday, then caught a news report this morning about the robbery in Titusville. She thought they’d stayed up home last weekend. She came over this morning with the paper.” Maggie shook her head. “And this big feller has been helping me out at the business. An F.B.I. man. Goes to show you can’t trust anyone.”

“When did you cut yourself in with this little group of southern ladies, Andrews?”

“You’ve got the story backwards, Mac.” Maggie said. “Gordo here picked up Azalea when she was running a pigeon drop scam in Savannah, liked her talent, and thought he could move her up to bigger and better action. He’d provide inside information on which banks to hit and where the Feds were going in their investigation so we’d stay a jump ahead.”

“Why don’t you shut up, Maggie?”

“You don’t want Mac to hear how Andrews sold out his own?”

“Turned on his own? Why don’t you tell them how Azalea died while you’re catching McKenzie up on everything?”

Lily made a low growling sound and advanced on him, her canes thumping the floor, her snow-white coiffure bobbing.

“You turned Azalea’s head with your stories. She got greedy, holding out on us, her own kin. Then she took off driving like a bat out of hell when Sister and I tumbled onto what she was doing. I wouldn’t be using these walking sticks today if it weren’t for that.”

“Yeah, well as I recall it, Magnolia was behind the wheel when the two of you ran Azalea off the road.” Andrews jerked his head. “What’s left of their baby sister is in the trunk of one of those rusting wrecks down the road. Lily’s husband chose it as her final resting place. So much for fine sisterly sentiment.”

“It was you filling her with dang-fool nonsense. She thought she’d be moving up north to easy street with you, along with the take from all our hard work. Me driving, Lily painting her face and outfitting her, Tom keepin’ the cars running.” Maggie spit on the floor.

“But you two geniuses didn’t count on the car catching on fire and taking most of that hard work up in flames. I don’t see any of us living high, wide, and handsome after that.”

“We got our second chance now. Be the gentleman, Mac. I’ll take that seat of yours for my sister,” Maggie said.

Mac rose and moved away as Lily hobbled over to the table.

“Even with a three way split, it should set us up nicely. The paper Lily brought said Mac and Jan have raked off close to a million.”

“No way. Except for the last two heists, Derossiers had been confiscating the money and turning it in. I underreported what he gave me so it’d look like they’d been skimming.”

She saw Mac’s fists tightened as he stood by the stove.