Stripped (39 page)
Together they’d built bridges. Burned a few as well. Last night changed them, but no amount of lovemaking could change who she was, and who she was jeopardized Brandon’s life.
She could enjoy him for now. Maybe even through tomorrow. After that, the fantasy must end. She’d leave; he’d go on solving cases and spending his nights with beautiful women. Their paths might cross briefly, but they weren’t meant to intertwine.
The dove had to stop. That eerie sound of mourning made her nerves stand on end. She pushed at Brandon’s shoulder, intending to shoo the thing away from his front porch. “Hey, I gotta get up,” she insisted quietly.
“Mm.” Light kisses fluttered over her breast. “Stay right here.”
“Brandon,” she protested with a laugh. Humor drained away as he captured her nipple between his lips and her flesh pulled with the suckling of his mouth. She threaded her fingers through his short dark hair, pressing his head deeper to her breast. A satisfied murmur rumbled in the back of her throat. “You’re going to break me.”
He lifted his head to turn molten gold eyes on her. “Are you sore?” he whispered, his voice husky.
“A little.”
Brushing her hair away from her face, he gave her a tender smile. “How about some coffee then?”
The reality that their night together had come to an end crashed into Natalya like waves against a rocky shore. She shriveled under the
bitter disappointment and summoned a wistful smile. “I really need to be getting home. I have plans with Sergei and Kate today.”
He dropped his head once more, this time capturing her mouth. Slowly, he kissed her, the velvety brush of his tongue a vibrant reminder of the thorough way he’d explored each inch of her body time and again. Warmth filtered into her veins, along with the craving to forget about Sergei, dismiss the tenderness in her body, and surrender to the arousal Brandon’s mouth stoked. But as his cock stiffened against her thigh, he brought the kiss to a leisurely close and gave her a playful grin.
“I’ll take you to Kate’s in a little bit. I have to take Derek back. Mind if I borrow your car today?”
The dove’s soulful call distracted her, and she frowned as a chill spread over her skin.
“Never mind, I can ask Aaron,” Brandon added quickly.
“No, no.” She shook her head, dismissing the stupid bird. “You can borrow my car. That’s fine. You have pigeons.”
“You sure?”
“You can’t hear them?”
“No, about the car.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Chuckling, Brandon rolled off the couch and extended his hand. She slid her palm into his, following him to her feet. A glance at her shirt had her wrinkling her nose at the prospect of putting it on. With it came a vivid memory of the last time Brandon had carried her to the heights of passion and how he’d used it to dry her body off as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. His hands had been gentle, his touch laden with tenderness.
As if he sensed her hesitation, he bent over and picked up the tank top. “I’ll wash this. You wanna borrow one of mine?”
“Please.”
A short nod, punctuated with a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose,
left her wanting to reach out and stop his retreat down the hall. Somewhere in the middle of the night, hardened cop became gallant. And sweet. No wonder Jill refused to let go. If he’d treated her with half of the affection Natalya had experienced in the last six hours, she could understand the graffiti.
This isn’t the same sort of thing.
His voice echoed in Natalya’s mind. If it wasn’t the same sort of thing, then just what was it? Had he been telling her he wanted more? Things she couldn’t give? Natalya chewed on her lower lip and gravitated to the picture of his family that sat on his shelves. He looked so young and carefree. Sergei too.
“Here you go.” Brandon appeared at her side, one hand on her shoulder, the other at her belly and holding a white T-shirt branded with
Sadie’s
.
She shrugged it on and followed him into the kitchen, dismayed he’d donned a pair of cotton boxers that thwarted her view of his tight butt. While drinking coffee in the nude might be unconventional, she hadn’t considered she’d lose the ability to admire one of his best features.
The dove cooed again, and Natalya grimaced. That sound made fingernails on chalkboards pleasant. “That bird has to go.” Leaving Brandon to the coffee, she picked up a magazine, rolled it into a tube, and followed the sound to his front door.
The chain lock rattled against the striker plate as she pulled the heavy wooden door open. Eyes trained to the porch rafters, she scanned the overhang for a nesting bird.
Ooo–wah
-
hoo
.
Natalya glanced down, and a scream rose to the back of her throat. She backed up rapidly, tripping in the process. Landing on her butt, she squeezed her eyes against the sight. But the image had already scalded into her mind. Trapped in a white wicker cage, a white dove cooed from where it stood in a puddle of sticky blood. Its mate lay on the cage floor, bright crimson covering its pristine breast. Its heart had been cut
out. The lifeless muscle dangled from the bloody cavity, still attached by one thick vein.
T
thump
from the front hall made Brandon cock his head. “Natalya? You okay?”
When she didn’t answer, he set down the coffeepot and darted around the corner. His door stood open. Natalya sat on the floor, facing the porch, one arm thrown over her eyes to block out something he couldn’t see. “Sweetheart?” he asked cautiously.
“Get it out of there!”
Her hysterical cry set off blaring sirens in his head. He took a step closer, moving so he could see around her. The shock made him recoil. He’d seen death. Was no stranger to blood. But witnessing the dead bird on his doorstop pitched his stomach violently. That the other bird had been left to grieve its lifemate, twisted something deep inside his gut.
He shut the door on the massacre. When he had Natalya settled down he’d dispose of the dead bird and set the other free. Bending, he fitted his hands beneath her arms and helped her to her feet.
The dove cooed, low and mournful.
“Get it out of there,” Natalya screamed again. “Get it out! Oh, God, get it out.” Turning her face into his chest, her shoulders shuddered, and she let out a sob. She brought one hand up to his chest and beat a futile fist against his ribs. “Get it out,” she choked through her tears.
“Okay. Shh.” He smoothed her hair. “I’ll get the bird out. Come sit down.”
He guided her back to the couch where minutes ago they’d known perfect peace. She huddled into the corner, her unfocused stare riveted on the dark television. Tears streamed down her cheeks, clawing at Brandon’s heart.
When he found out who’d done this, he’d rip the bastard into
pieces. If it came from his father’s
family
, even more so. This was too much. Too cruel. The implication too chilling.
Grinding his teeth together, he stalked down the hall for a towel, then stormed to the front door once more. As he opened it, the poor dove cooed again. It bent its head and nudged its dead companion. Brandon let out a hiss.
He jerked open the cage door and shoved his hand inside, fitting his fingers around the mourning bird’s wings. It offered no struggle as he pulled it out of the cage and carefully wrapped it up in the towel. He kicked the cage behind the bushes. Until he could clean up the mess, he didn’t want the neighbors seeing it.
Now what to do with a bird? Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he recalled his mother telling him hand-reared birds didn’t possess the ability to fend for themselves in the wild. This one sure didn’t seem afraid of him. Not like he’d expect a wild bird to be. Hell, it hadn’t moved except to cock its head and fix a dark soulful eye on his face.
He went back inside and approached Natalya, who also hadn’t moved. “Natalya?”
Like the sound of his voice was a physical line thrown to draw her back, she slowly focused on his face and retreated from her thoughts. Returning to the present. “Yes?” she asked, eerily calm.
Brandon sank into the cushion next to her. Setting the bird in his lap, he slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. His lips moved through her hair as he fought off his own grief. Sorrow that he’d brought this to her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Sorry that he’d coaxed her into admitting her desire. That he’d let her stay the night. That he’d exposed her to this nightmare.
She curled into his embrace, collapsing against him. All the strength he knew she possessed, the courage he’d witnessed and admired on countless occasions, vanished in the desperate clutch of her hands. The tremble of her shoulders.
He tightened his embrace and tucked her head beneath his chin. The bastard would die. He’d sacrifice his badge, his career, his life if it meant Natalya would never again know this kind of fear.
N
Other truths sank in the longer he held her. She’d finally cracked one-hundred percent. She’d stood toe-to-toe with men and pulled the trigger. Even the unforgettable way a person’s eyes slowly turned cold as death stole over them had never brought her to collapse. She’d mopped up blood, and no crimson pool had ever made her want to vomit the way that poor bird’s had.
She’d lost her grip, and all she could think about was that dove grieving its butchered companion. It had been calling for help,
mourning
, and she’d been annoyed.
A bird shouldn’t possess the ability to turn her inside out. Shouldn’t be able to bring her to her knees. And it damn sure shouldn’t make her afraid.
Yet, she was. She’d become a liability to everyone—Brandon, Sergei, Kate. Herself. Without the ability to block out emotion and focus on the objective, she was a risk. After the warnings last night, she should have been on guard, anticipating something more would come. But no. She’d let it slide into the back of her mind and became careless.
Worse, if she’d had any doubt at all about Dmitri knowing her involvement with Brandon, she’d just become convinced. They’d planned doves for their wedding. He found their ability to choose a mate for life fascinating.
As it should be,
he’d remarked.
The perfect symbol of love.
Sniffling, she dropped her hand and stroked the top of the dove’s head.
Dmitri knew, and Dmitri meant for one of them to die. The other was meant to suffer.
Fear trickled down her spine. She had to talk to Sergei. To Kate. Make it clear she’d screwed up and there was only one way this could end. She had to disappear.
Eternally.
I
That would give her approximately two hours to do the things she needed to do, and him time enough to call a brief meeting with Mayer. Other than that, he didn’t intend to let Natalya out of his sight.
Her quiet gaze reflected worry, and he released her arm to cup the side of her face. “Hey, you’re going to be fine.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“
We’re
going to be fine.” We. There—he’d said it. He’d equated the both of them together. Damned if it didn’t feel good too. After an incredible morning in Natalya’s arms, he was done fighting that as well. He cared for her, and he didn’t intend to set her aside any time soon.
Especially not with someone threatening her.
Her smile struggled for freedom, and he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Adding pressure to the back of her head, he urged her to lean across the center console so he could kiss those swollen lips. “I promise,” he whispered against her mouth.
As she nodded, she closed her eyes, and her lips moved against his. Softly. Gently. He reveled in the simplicity of their embrace, the warmth that invaded his veins. Arousal tugged at the back of his mind, but it stayed there, dormant. Surprisingly satisfied by just the silken
feel of her mouth beneath his and the sweet honeyed flavor of complacent woman.
Brandon eased the kiss to a close and gave her free hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“Okay.”
With one last meaningful look over her shoulder, she climbed out of the car and hurried to Kate’s front door. He frowned at Sergei’s car as he backed out of the driveway, not at all pleased Natalya had turned to him. Brandon couldn’t particularly blame her—their deep-rooted friendship was obvious. Still, it burned that he couldn’t fill that need.
Patience.
She’d come around. He’d make it impossible not to.
He stepped on the gas and headed for his house once more. Thirty minutes ago, he’d snuck in a phone call to Mayer while he was dressing. Mayer ought to be there by now.
Sure enough, the red Volkswagen sat in Brandon’s driveway, and Aaron lounged against the driver’s door, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. He straightened as Brandon pulled in beside him and turned off the Accord.
“Sharing cars now, huh?”
Brandon gave him a stern frown. “The Shelby’s at the club. I got hit yesterday—gotta take it in to repair the headlight.”
“Uh-huh. Those headlights are so important during the day.”
“Shut up, Mayer.” Brandon unlocked his front door and ushered his best friend inside.
“So what’s the big problem you mentioned this morning?”
“Close the door and meet me in the kitchen.”
He headed for his bedroom and the bird he’d put in an old crate he found in the corner of his garage. Opening the door carefully, he glanced around to make sure it hadn’t flown out before entering. It sat in the crate, head cocked, watching his approach. So far, so good. It hadn’t keeled over yet. He didn’t know what kind of stress a dead companion
could create, but he imagined it couldn’t be good. The bird, however, seemed resilient.
