Risk of a Lifetime (17 page)

When JB climbed back down, the sound of running water still filled the air. Without much thought, he sat bread and bacon and eggs on the counter and started a pot of coffee. The smell of the fresh brew eased his mind. Still, the ten .38s troubled his thoughts.

Who’d used a .38 in his last few jobs? Had there been ten people taken down on a case? Or arrested? Crazies always focused on perceived wrongs. And this guy was crazy for sure. Psycho…to have crawled under their house. Listened. Let them get away. The jerk felt invincible.

Not for long.

He dropped the bacon into a skillet. Sizzling grease splattered his arms as he pushed the slices around with a fork. He stared at the spots, absorbed the pain, and kept thinking.

Maybe he’d arrested this guy’s relative. If Marcy was right that she was secondary, that he was the one the man wanted to torture with fear for her life, then this had to revolve around a woman being hurt during a case. What women had been in his last few jobs? A mother or sister? Wife? Girlfriend? Arrested? Death was a strong retaliation for an arrest, even prison. One thing he knew for sure, he’d never killed a woman on any of his cases. Never even shot one.

In fact, the only time there’d been a woman killed had been two jobs ago. The meth bust. The one where part of the lab blew sky-high. The one that cost one woman’s life in the explosion and another shot as she fired on the incoming agents and police. One cop and two agents took hard hits that day. One died, one disabled, and one scarred for life. But JB had nothing to do with the shooting or the explosion.

He’d been logistics that day. The liaison between the teams. The man who gave the order to go in once everyone had settled into place. Landon was supposed to have been in charge, but he’d failed to show up until later. Overslept or something. Of course even with that on his record, Landon had managed to keep his position with the FBI. No. This couldn’t be tied to that job. JB hadn’t even pulled his gun the entire day.

The bedroom door clicked open, drawing his attention away from the eggs he’d dumped in the pan with the bacon a few second ago. Standing center in the doorframe, the vision of Marcy shot straight to his core. His gaze traveled from her fresh, clean face, along with her smile, to her still-wet hair combed straight to her shoulders, to those long legs. Legs silky and smooth and sexy…visible from beneath an oversized, almost-white shirt. He longed to run his hands from her toes to her thighs to her—

His insides jerked and twisted like a knife. A man’s shirt. Why did she have on a man’s shirt? Cain’s? Maybe she found it in the bedroom. If not, that meant she brought it with her. And, in that case, who did the shirt belong to? He felt his hand grip the handle of the spatula. His jealous, male ego jumped into gear. Stupid, stupid reaction.

Who was he to say she couldn’t see other men? He’d been the one to stay gone for three years. Him and the other side of his damn ego. But, the idea that she’s been with another man, while knowing they were still married, stung. Stung to his core. His heart felt on fire, pounding faster than a ten-mile run would create. Until he signed those divorce papers, he hadn’t even looked at another woman. And, she’d…she…

Exasperated because he couldn’t stop the pain he felt. Jealous he’d let her give herself to someone else. Angry his ego had kept him from coming back sooner. He flung the spatula into the pan, and it bounced from the heat to the stove to the counter.

He had no right, he shouldn’t, but he had to know. “Who’s shirt have you got on?”

Chapter Twenty

Marcy caught the spatula as it slid from the counter headed to the floor, then watched as JB stormed out the front door to the porch. He raked his fingers through his hair before glancing back through the screen at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand not to.

“Never mind. Not my business.” Shaking his head, he stomped down the steps.

“Where are you going?”

“To the lake to cool off.”

Cool off? They didn’t need cool. If anything, they needed a fire in the fireplace. “What if the man chasing us shows up?”

“Shoot him.”

The sizzle of the pan pulled her back. She turned the burner off and slid a lid in place. She’d never seen JB like this. What did he mean, whose shirt was she wearing?

After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she walked to the front door and focused on him as he stood at the far end of the dock. Shoulders straight, legs braced apart, hands on his waist, kind of like he was getting ready for a battle.

He yanked his black insulated shirt up over his head after dropping his Kevlar vest to the dock, then tucked his shoulder holster and Glock in the bait box on the dock. His fingers worked the laces on his boots, shucked them and his socks. Next, he shed his pants and thermals. She smiled at the view of his backside. She loved to watch JB’s muscles and body. Her hands tightened around the warm mug.

Whose shirt did he think she was wearing?

His dive into the maybe-forty-degree water surprised her. Was he crazy? She dropped her cup and grabbed a wool throw cover before barging out the screen door. He was swimming across the small cove. Yes, he was crazy. Definitely crazy.

“JB, stop. Get out of the water. Get. Out. Of. The water.” She ran down the hill toward the dock, dragging the throw. Her feet tangled in the wool, and she fell forward. Rolling like a mummy being wrapped, she caught herself on a sapling and came to an abrupt stop. At least the material protected her legs from scrapes. Her feet were a different story. Who in their right mind would run outside without shoes on? And where was she headed? Water and her were not going to mix. Not today. Not ever again.

Stuck with her back to the dock, she fought to untangle her legs from the cover and hold onto the tree at the same time. A dripping splash of water, then footsteps on the dock assured her he’d made it out of the lake. “Help me.”

“Hold on,” he said.

She gripped the sapling with both hands as her weight worked with gravity on her downhill slide. “What’s taking so long?”

“Getting dressed.”

“I don’t care if you’re dressed or not. I need some help up here.”

Sounds of movement from the dock area at least meant he was on the way. His jean-clad legs appeared as he planted his boot-clad feet next to her. Dropping the black thermal bottoms from his hands, he crouched to her level. “How did you get in this predicament?”

“I was coming to save you.” Her fingers were fast slipping from the tree.

“Save me? Really? From what?”

“From the lake. From the fish. From whatever the heck reason you jumped in.” Marcy looked up, then grabbed onto the sapling with both hands again. She wasn’t about to chance sliding into the water. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

He pulled her to her feet in one smooth motion. “I don’t need saving. I just decided to take a swim.”

“Why?” She fidgeted from foot to foot. The ground was cold, plus pebbles ground into the soles of her feet.

A huge suck-it-in, blow-it-out sigh escaped his mouth. “Where are your shoes?”

“In the house.” She shivered, scrunching the woolen throw around her.

“Sounds like a personal problem.” He bent enough to lift her, tummy first, onto his right shoulder. He gripped his arm around her legs so she wouldn’t slide over. Then bent enough to pick up his thermals before climbing up the slight incline to the cabin.

“I forgot them, okay? You can put me down anytime now.” Balancing herself on her tummy atop his muscles, she actually enjoyed the view from where she was. She slapped him on his backside. “You know, I missed you.”

“Did you now?” His hand popped onto her rear and stayed. “I missed you, too.”

Felt good. Good enough that she smiled to herself as he carried her to the cabin porch and sat her back on her feet. She blocked the doorway. He picked her up by the waist, set her aside, and walked on through. After quickly shaking out the throw, she followed him into the cabin’s warmth and closed and locked the door behind her.

JB laid his Glock and holster on the table, then filled their plates and poured them each fresh coffee. “Let’s eat.”

She shook her head, then took her hip-cocked out, hands-on-hips stance. The one that meant she was prepared to wait however long it took. “Not until we get this settled. First you ask whose shirt I’m wearing. Then you go jump in the freezing lake. There has to be a reason.”

“You want to know the reason?” His voice growled calmly. “Do you really want to know, Marcy?”

“Yes.” Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t pushed for an answer. Her throat tightened as she flattened her mouth in an attempt to convey strength. “Yes, I do.”

“No man…” He looked her down and up, pointed, then caught himself and put his hands on his waist. “Aw, hell. Never mind.” He grabbed his cup of coffee, took one long gulp, and sat it in the sink before starting to the front door again.

She ran in front of him and turned to face her crazy, bullheaded husband. The man who hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on when he got dressed from his swim. Damn, he was making this hard to concentrate with all the tempting muscles staring her in the face. “No man what?”

He stopped and braced his arms above her and to the sides. Tilted his forehead to hers. “No man wants to see his woman in another man’s shirt. Okay? Least of all me. I know I don’t have much right to say—”

“You think this is another man’s?” She picked at the almost white, long-sleeved shirt now covered with dirt and sticks from her fall. That’s what this was about? All this because he couldn’t admit he was jealous. If she hadn’t been mad as hell, the scenario would almost be touching.

“Well, I sure as heck didn’t have one in my duffle.” He pulled his forehead back. “I don’t want to know whose it is, Marcy. Just don’t wear it in front of me again.”

Son-of-a-gun, he was trying to play the martyr. Baloney on that. She wouldn’t let him off that easy. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Giant ego or not, this time he’d come face-to-face with the fact he wasn’t always right.

“Get out of my way, you big lug.” She laughed, pushed on his chest again and again and again. Tilting to get around him, he blocked her way with his body. She tried the other side. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

He moved, and she stomped across the floor to the bedroom door. On second thought, this wasn’t over. She stomped back even quicker. Pushing him against the front door, she took her stance. Toe-to-toe, forehead-to-chin, you might say. She had him right where she wanted him.

…

JB had her right where he wanted her except for one thing. If she couldn’t understand how he felt about the shirt, then they’d need to have a good, long talk. Not what he’d planned for the rest of the day.

Her hands gripped the collar of the shirt she had on and began to pull the material up over her head. She got stuck. “Dang it.”

She undid a couple more of the top buttons. All sense of propriety disappeared when the shirt gapped, and the smooth roundness of her breast made him long to reach out. He kept his hands to himself. She was riled. And he was still none too happy about the man’s shirt.

Again, she grabbed the collar and pulled upward, her head disappearing like a turtle hiding in its shell. What was she doing? The hem on the shirttail slid up her legs, all the way to her hipbones. Heaven help him. Staying mad was not going to be an option. Not at this rate. In fact, his groin had already made up his mind for him. He inhaled deep and blew out a long sigh.

She tugged one more iota, and the front of the shirt tail bottom exposed her soft mound. He placed one hand on her hip, easing her toward him. Shifting himself toward her. One hand shouldn’t get him in too much trouble.

“Stop that.” She swatted his hand away, then reached for the collar again.

Maybe it would. Or, maybe he just caught her by surprise. He reached out again. This time she didn’t push him away, so he caressed her upper thighs, creeping higher in small increments. She felt good and warm and, in his Marcy-starved state of mind, almost-willing. He was for sure willing.

Her finger pointed in the general direction of the inside of the shirt collar. Where laundry marks are made. “What does that say on the collar?”

What did it say? At the moment, he didn’t give a darn what happened to be on the collar. Still, he looked. Looked closer. Son-of-a-gun. Fool…that’s what it said. “Says JBB.”

His inter-looped initials, his trademark signature, stared back at him.

“And, what does it say on this side?” She pointed in the same general direction.

“Says NBD.” Never back down.

These letters, along with his initials, were the way he’d marked his belongings since he was old enough to go to the store and buy an indelible marker. His fingers inched higher on her body, and she pulled the shirt back into place. He didn’t remove his hold, even made lazy palm circles on her lower, lower back. Her cute little derrière.

She shoved him away. “Now whose shirt is this?”

“I never had a lavender shirt in my life.”

“This was white until I accidently washed it with my purple sweatshirt.” She kept him at arm’s length, tapping her foot. “Answer my question. Whose shirt?”

Sheepish, he glanced at the floor. “Mine.”

He found his hands empty and shoved them in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. Dang, he wanted this woman. But, from her expression, the irritated look on her face, he wasn’t sure where he stood at this point.

“I kept this shirt when I packed your duffle years ago. And I’ve slept in this shirt more nights than you can imagine.” She wadded the material in her hand, blushed. “Imagined you there beside me more times than I want to remember.”

As he stepped forward, she braced her hand against his chest, and for a moment, he thought she’d come to him. Let him hold her. Make everything right in their world. But, she didn’t. Instead, she pulled her hand away and placed it on her heart.

“I know I’m the one who shoved you away, but I also waited for you, JB. I cried and I yelled and I crawled in our bed alone. Every single night…I slept alone. I woke up alone. I ate alone. I showered alone.” She paused. “I curled up in the swing on our anniversary…alone.”

The look on his wife’s face was agony. He could see how he broke her heart by staying away so long.

She twined her fingers through his, then let them go. Her heat stayed with him. “I called you. Time and again, I called. Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

Yeah, he’d seen her number on his caller ID many times, but he’d only returned the call once. Right before an undercover assignment.

Looking back, he couldn’t believe he’d put her through all those days. No. She’d said he wasn’t good enough…or had she? Not those exact words, but that’s what he heard. And when she set the bag on the front porch and locked the door, it was a blow that took him back to all the doubts he had as a child. Still, that hadn’t been the worst.

The worst he remembered was her turning away from him at night every time he got hurt on the job. Not feeling her warmth against his side had come close to making him quit the force. And being a lawman was what kept him getting out of bed every stinking day. What made him know he meant something in this world. Of course, she was what made him lay down at night.

He stroked his palm through her hair, twisting his finger in the softness. “You sent me away, and I told myself that’s what you wanted. Thought I was making you happy by being gone. Maybe you found someone else. Now I see it was my own damn male pride that kept me away.”

The day he signed the divorce papers she sent had been the first time he felt the coldness of having a hole in his heart. Seeing her in anguish now was worse. Ten times worse.

“I don’t want anybody else.” Her fingertips brushed across his lips, then she closed the distance to his body. “Ever. And, I don’t want to be alone any more. I just want to lay by your side every night. Be your wife.” She laid her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry, JB. I’m sorry I ever threw you out.”

“I’m sorry, too, sugar. For everything.”

His heart felt like it might burst. He scooped her up, nuzzling her neck as she looped her arms over his shoulders. All he wanted was her warmth surrounding him. Every last inch of him. Now and forever.

Pausing only long enough to grab his gun and holster from the table as they passed, he carried her to the bedroom and placed the Glock on the nightstand by the bed. After laying her down, he tangled his fingers through her hair. Spread it across the pillow like a blanket of temptation. A temptation he’d been drawn to since the day the soft, reddish-brown strands had first brushed his cheek as she’d leaned over to help him with an algebra equation.

She circled her palm around the back of his head, but before she could pull him to her, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. His bare skin craved the feel of her heat. He slid his hand between them and searched for the buttons to set the shirt free. She sat up, her knees soft and tight against his sides, then she undid the rest of the buttons. Slow and sensual, one at a time, until the shirt fell open, stopped only by the fullness of her breasts.

He stroked his fingers across her skin until she arched, flinging her head back while her breaths came in tiny gasps. Pulling him to her, his mouth replaced his fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled, gliding her palms over his chest, his shoulders. He heard his own groan.

She blew her breath against his ear. “Now, JB. Now.”

He shoved the shirt down her arms and off, then rolled her to her back. Covering every spot he knew she liked, he streaked a trail of kisses down her body. His hand caressed her inner thigh, then inched upward. She moaned as her body tensed. He gave her more, more until he felt her release, then clasped her to him as she trembled.