Sworn to Protect (29 page)

Daisy agreed. “We want what’s best for you. We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“You guys would really do that for me, wouldn’t you? Just put your lives on hold because you love me.” He said it with a strange sort of wonder, as though nobody had ever put him first.

In a way, Shane knew Brad hadn’t put his son first in many years. As close as they all had been, that was an inescapable truth.

“We would. You’re our first priority.”

For a few seconds, the boy looked like he was going to cry. After a long moment, he composed himself and grinned. “I want you both to be happy, and I’m totally cool with the hot cop chick moving in with us. Just sayin’.”

Shane couldn’t help but laugh. “Good. But she’s my hot cop, and don’t forget it.”

“Guess that means you’re getting married?”

“If Daisy will have me, nothing would make me happier.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that a proposal?”

“Like I said, it’s not the ideal place, and I don’t have a ring hidden in my hospital gown, but yes. Will you marry me, Daisy Callahan?”

“Yes, I will!” She leaned over, giving him a thorough kiss. The look in her eyes promised much more the moment he was well enough to handle it.

“Awesome.” The boy bit his lip. The twinkle in his eyes before he spoke suggested he already knew the answer. “So, since we’re all happy campers, am I still grounded?”

“For skipping school almost a dozen times? Uh, that’s a big ten-four.”

“Damn. Guess I still can’t drive the Mustang?”

“Not until you manage something quite a bit above a two-point-zero GPA.”

“Had to ask.”

“For all the good it did. Have fun during house arrest while I’m home recuperating and being grumpy.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Dammit, Drew—”

“Hey, he’s a work in progress,” Daisy said, and gave Drew a wink.

Giving up, Shane settled back and closed his eyes. But he was smiling as he pictured his family. Their future together.

He was a damned lucky man.

•   •   •

A little over a week later, Shane was parked in his own easy chair. It was wonderful to be home, even if his family fussing over him was bound to get old eventually.

Daisy had taken off a few days to play nurse, with Austin’s blessing. The captain had said the brass wouldn’t make a huge fuss about them working for the police department—but they could
not
work calls together any longer, for everyone’s safety. They were being lenient, and Shane was grateful. As for now? He couldn’t wait until he could play doctor with his honey. Damn, he was so horny he hurt—another pain to add to the list.

Just then, the key turned in the front door and she rushed in, holding two grocery sacks. “Hey, handsome! How are you doing? Everything okay while I was gone?”

“You were only gone an hour,” he pointed out, adjusting his blanket over his hard-on. “What trouble could I get into?”

“Plenty, knowing you.”

He gave her a pout. “Not fair. Trouble just finds me.”

“Then you and Drew have that in common.”

“Oh, crap. What’s he done this time?”

“Nothing. That I know of. But I guess we’ll find out when he gets home from school in a couple of hours.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Seriously, I do have some news,” she told him, perching on the arm of the sofa close to him. “Ty has moved to Texas to live with an aunt. Turns out she’s wanted Ty to come live with her for years and has never been able to get him away from Carl. He said he’d call Drew with his new address and phone number.”

“Fabulous.” He grimaced. “I feel bad for the boy, really. He can’t help the way he was raised. But I’m not sorry that he won’t be an influence over Drew anymore.”

“I don’t think he would have, anyway. Drew told me he’d already decided not to spend so much time with him anymore. In fact, he’s been mentioning Alan quite a bit.”

“That’s good. New friends are what he needs.”

“Found out something else: Drew was right. The drugs had been manufactured in Frank’s barn, but after the boys pulled that stunt with the spray paint, he and Carl moved them to a warehouse in Nashville. Taylor and Chris found the address in some of Carl’s papers and passed it to the Nashville PD. Lacey and his team made the find there. Stuff had a street value of millions, or would have if the formula had ever been perfected. That knowledge died with Holstead and the goateed man from the cabin, Irvin Sanders.”

“Goateed?” he mused. “That would be our supplier who got away when we took our dunk in the river. Sounds like they cut off their noses.”

“Yep. Frank’s the only one left to take the rap, so he’s singing loud, giving up their ring of sellers on the street, hoping for a deal.”

“Good luck with that.” Shifting, he tried to be discreet about reaching under his blanket to shift the erection straining at his sleep pants.

“Are you mining for gold under there?” She grinned wickedly.

“Damn, baby. You know I’m going crazy,” he grumped. “We haven’t had sex for
days
.”

“Because someone went and got his ass shot and has to recover.”

“It’s not my ass that hurts. It’s a little more toward the starboard side.” With that, he flung the blanket off his lap to reveal the large tent poking at the front of his flannels.

“Oh, my. That does look uncomfortable. But while the spirit is willing, the flesh is wounded.” She pointed at the area on his side where his bandage and staples were hidden under his shirt.

Grabbing her hand, he pressed her palm to the ridge of his cock and ground against it. “Some of the flesh isn’t wounded at all. I need you. I’m dying here. Please, sugar?”

Finally relenting, thank God, she started to work down his pants. “All right. Only if we go slowly. One twinge, and we’re done.”

It would take a lot more than a twinge to stop him. Especially when she finished exposing his stiff cock, then tossed aside his pants. Then she scooted off him to remove her clothes, baring every inch of creamy skin to his gaze. Her shining blond hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her rosy nipples begged to be sucked. He wanted those long thighs straddling him, too.

“Climb on top of me. There’s plenty of room.”

“I will. But first . . .”

Kneeling between his legs, she spread his knees and grasped his erection. Lowered her head and began to lave the leaking tip. He sucked in a breath, watching her sweet mouth work him. Those pretty lips. Her mouth felt like hot velvet when she took him in, began to suck.

“Jesus, yes.”

Holding the back of her head, he guided her up and down on his shaft. Loving the tingles that skittered from his cock down to his balls. They tightened, and he knew he had to stop.

“Gonna come if you don’t stop.” Gently, he urged her off. “Climb on and fuck me, sugar.”

She straddled his lap, and he positioned his cock at her entrance. They both groaned in pleasure as she slid down, taking him inside her. She began to move, almost too carefully, driving him insane.

“Faster, honey. You won’t hurt me.”

He didn’t care if she did. He needed this badly. She increased the tempo and he tried to thrust, but only managed a few pumps before his side protested. So he let her take control, and she was so damned sexy riding him. His own goddess to keep forever.

His cock slid in and out, the slick heat bringing him closer and closer to the edge. Too soon, the familiar quickening began in his groin and became fire that shot through his balls and cock.

“Shit! Yes, baby!”

His release hit hard and he shot into her, filling her up. Arms around his neck, she tightened around his cock with a cry, following him in orgasm. They floated for a few minutes, coming down from the high. It was so fantastic, being together with her. Here in what would be their home.

He kissed her lips. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re the one who’s injured.” Gingerly, she felt his bandage to make sure he was okay.

“Tell that to Mr. Happy.” She giggled. “When are you going to make an honest man of me? If we don’t set a date soon, I’m going to be tempted to move you in, anyway, and risk scarring our boy for life.”

“Oh, I doubt he’d be all that affected, at least in a bad way.” She kissed him thoroughly. “But you’re right. When do you want to do the deed?”

“Tomorrow?”

“A bit soon. How about next month?”

“Really?” he asked hopefully. “You won’t need more time to get all that stuff together that women do? Whatever that is.”

He had no clue, except from Tommy and Shea’s wedding, and he hadn’t had to do anything but pick up his tux and show up. And get Tommy drunk at his bachelor party the night before, of course.

“No, it’s not like I have a big family. I don’t want anything fancy, either. Just a small wedding and a party afterward here with our family and friends.”

“Whatever you want, sugar. I just want your big day to be special.”

“I can’t think of anything more special than becoming the wife of the man I love.”

“You look very pleased with yourself, future Mrs. Ford.”

“I am. I scored the most dedicated bachelor in town, and I’m not about to let him go.”

“Escape is something I’m not interested in, I assure you. I’ll never run from you or our love again.”

“Prove it.” She wiggled on his lap.

Since she’d reawakened the beast, he smiled and set about doing just that once again.

He’d prove to her that nobody made him happier and that he’d cherish her forever.

Daisy and his son. The two people he was born to love and protect.

Shane and his family were complete, at last.

About the Author

Bestselling author
Jo Davis
is the author of the popular Firefighters of Station Five series, written as Jo Davis, and the dark, sexy paranormal series Alpha Pack, written as J.D. Tyler.
Primal Law
, the first book in her Alpha Pack series, is the winner of the National Reader’s Choice Award in Paranormal. She has also been a multiple finalist in the Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a finalist for the Bookseller’s Best Award, has captured the HOLT Medallion Award of Merit, and has been a two-time nominee for the Australian Romance Readers Award in romantic suspense. She’s had one book optioned for a major motion picture.

Connect Online

www.jodavis.net

Turn the page for the a special preview

of the next book in the Sugarland Blue series,

Hot Pursuit

Coming from Signet Eclipse in December 2013.

God help me, I’m only twenty-eight. Too young to die.

Taylor Kayne bolted upright in bed, bathed in sweat, heart beating a sharp, painful rhythm against his sternum. The ghost sensation of cold steel pressed into the back of his head slowly evaporated, bringing him to wakefulness. Once, the real-life incident that spurred the nightmare had been nicely suppressed and compartmentalized in a tight little box in his brain, but lately it descended with alarming frequency.

Delayed PTSD. Wouldn’t that tidbit give the Sugarland PD’s shrink an orgasm?

Shane Ford, Taylor’s partner in Homicide, would be shocked, too. Shane knew the story of what had happened four years ago, but had no idea the past was riding Taylor hard. Driving him to lose sleep, affecting his appetite, costing him focus at work. And nobody could find out, especially Shane.

Why the hell was this happening
now
, when his life was mostly together?

Pushing from bed, he stood and shook it off, one more time. One more day. He could do this.

Glancing at the clock, he grimaced. Just shy of five thirty in the morning. Jesus, that sucked. But since he’d skipped his run for the last few days, he might as well take advantage of the extra hour before he had to get ready for work. He knew he’d feel better once he got his blood pumping, but lately it had been damn hard to get motivated.

“Get your ass moving, slacker,” he muttered to himself.

In less than two minutes, he was dressed in jogging pants, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Sucking in a deep breath, he headed downstairs and out the front door, locking it behind him and then hanging the spare key on a cord around his neck. After tucking the key under his shirt, he started off.

Settling into a brisk pace, he regulated his breathing and enjoyed the feeling of stretching neglected muscles, his soles hitting the pavement. He loved to run. He wasn’t a fitness nut, not even close, but the fresh air was good for him. Helped him clear his head. Especially in the early summer like now, before the weather turned too hot.

As always, he admired the older homes in his neighborhood, with their tidy yards and beds full of flowers. He had a healthy competition going with the neighbors on his street, trying to outdo one another on who could cultivate the best yard. They even held a yearly contest at their block party. Shane liked giving him shit about that.
Sue me. I like plants and flowers, and I’m social.

Whatever. Focusing on his home gave him something to do to take his mind off his lonely single status for a while. Besides, ladies loved that sort of shit, right? When he found the One, she’d admire his botanical handiwork and realize she’d found the
perfect man
. The idea made him smirk at his own idiocy.

He was so into his thoughts, the steady pounding of his feet on the asphalt, that he didn’t register the whine of an approaching engine. Acceleration.

Not until it was almost too late.

Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder—and his eyes widened. A black pickup truck was barreling down on him and swerving in his direction. Twisting his body, he dove for a row of hedges just as the bumper of the truck clipped his left side. The shock of the impact barely had a second to register, and then he was flying over the bushes. He hit the ground hard, skidding, one knee and an arm taking the brunt. Coming to a stop, he rolled to sit up, half-expecting the truck to burst right through the hedges and mow him down.

At the sound of the vehicle squealing around the corner, he let out a sigh of relief and sat there, pushing a shaking hand through his hair.

“Shit!”

Sharp pain began to make itself known, and he inspected the damage. His right forearm was scraped, bloody, and dirty, but once it was cleaned it wouldn’t be too bad. The laceration across his kneecap might be more problematic. Probing it, he hissed a breath. The cut was nasty, and he was bleeding like a stuck pig. It was a tricky spot for stitches, though, so he’d just have to tend it as best he could.

Getting to his feet was more difficult than he expected. He was already hurting all over, getting stiff. Of course, there was nobody around on this quiet street to help him, and he hadn’t brought his cell phone. He’d jogged about four miles, and he was looking at a painful walk home. He was going to be late to the station.

He started off, wincing with every slow step. His body was throbbing everywhere, so to occupy his mind, he tried to focus on what he recalled about the truck.

The vehicle was black. Completely. Tinted windows that were beyond legal. Thinking harder, he realized it was a Ford. Newer model, from the grille and logo. He hadn’t been able to get a glimpse of the driver or the plates. As for who might hold a big enough grudge to try to run him down? Fuck, he’d been a cop since he was twenty-one. That list would take all day to compile.

That was all he had, and it wasn’t much.

The walk home took over half an hour. By the time he limped up the porch steps, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and give the finger to this whole day. Instead, he took a hot shower, paying special attention to getting the dirt out of his scrapes and the cut on his knee. It hurt like shit, and he knew he’d feel worse tomorrow. Joy.

Once out of the shower, he toweled off and gathered some first-aid supplies, then sat on the toilet lid. The arm could wait. His knee was still bleeding like a bitch, and he doused it with antiseptic. Several gauze pads later, the bleeding had slowed, and he closed the laceration as best as he could, using some wound glue he’d bought at the drugstore a while back. It worked okay, and he bandaged and taped his knee for good measure. He’d have to watch that wound for infection.

There wasn’t much he could do for the scraped-up arm. He hit it with antiseptic as well, downed a couple of ibuprofen, then hobbled into the bedroom and spotted the time. Just after seven. Before getting dressed, he had to make a call. Picking up his cell, he sat on the bed, brought up his contacts, and punched the number.

Shane answered on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m going to be a little late, half hour or so. I, um, had an incident.”

“What kind of incident? What happened?” He could hear the concern in his partner’s voice.

“Truck tried to turn me into road kill while I was out running this morning.”

“On purpose?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. You okay?”

“I’m fine, just moving slow. Scraped my arm and cut my knee after he hit me—”

“The bastard actually
hit
you?” his friend barked. “Why the hell aren’t you in the ER getting checked out?”

“Calm down, partner. Like I said, it’s not that bad. I got clipped by the bumper, is all.” He cut Shane off before the man could get started again. “After I get there, I’m going to file a report so the guys on patrol can watch for the truck. Black Ford.”

“The one with the fucking
dent
in the front.”

He had to smile. “That’ll be the one.”

“I’m already at the station. I’ll give them a heads-up so they can go ahead and start looking,” he said, an angry edge to his words.

“Thanks, man.”

“You need a ride? I can send a squad.”

“No, I’m good.” The last thing he wanted was to call even more attention to his situation.

“All right. Take your time and I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call, Taylor went to the closet and chose an acceptable pair of jeans that were comfortable. Then he lingered over the shirts. A short-sleeved one would be better because it wouldn’t rub on the scrapes, but then he’d have to field questions all day from people who hadn’t heard about this morning. Debating, he settled on a dark, long-sleeved cotton shirt that would hide the wounds and any dots of blood that might seep through.

Once he was dressed, putting on his shoes was an effort. Amazing how fast the body became bruised and sore. Good thing he was going in to the station—if he sat around here much longer, he might never move again.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he settled on coffee and half a toasted bagel. He needed something in his stomach, and he couldn’t live without his daily jolt of caffeine. Especially today. He carried both with him and eyed his new Challenger before climbing in.

He loved muscle cars, and this was a really cool one. But he missed his old Chevelle, which had been fucked up a few weeks ago when Shane and he had taken a dip—car and all—into the Cumberland River while in pursuit of a suspect. The car was currently sitting alone and forlorn in Christian Ford’s big garage out back of his house. Chris was Shane’s cousin and a fellow Homicide detective, having recently transferred in from Texas. The three of them tinkered on fixing the Chevelle when they had time, and Taylor had the extra cash, which wasn’t often.

God, he missed that car.

The Challenger started with a throaty roar, which he had to admit was pretty butch. Too bad he couldn’t enjoy driving it today, with his knee screaming every time he switched from the gas to the brake. Maybe he should’ve accepted the ride. Too late now.

He made it to the station and was thankfully able to give his report with little fanfare. Apparently, Shane had told only those who needed to know: their captain, Austin Rainey, and a couple of uniforms. He had no doubt that the entire department would know within the hour, but at least he was able to have some breathing room. A few minutes later, he limped into his partner’s office and closed the door.

Shane looked up from some papers, giving him a half-smile. “Hey. He must’ve winged you good.”

“For sure. No point in sitting around at home, though.”

“You might reconsider tomorrow, when it’s worse.”

“We’ll see.” He wouldn’t call in sick unless he was on his deathbed, and they both knew it.

Shane just shook his head. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Taylor spent the next few minutes giving his partner the rundown, though there wasn’t much to tell. They went back through some of their most recent cases to try to form a list of who might still carry enough of a grudge to commit attempted murder, but although there were several candidates, none was that strong.

Taylor tried to get comfortable in his chair, wincing as he squirmed. “Most of them are in prison or dead. And the ones that are out . . . I can come up with a list as long as my arm of who would run me over if they had the chance, but . . .” He frowned.

“What?”

“This had a different feel. Nothing I can put my finger on, just intuition.”

“Like he was waiting for the opportunity?”

“Exactly. I’ve got no proof, though.”

“You and I both know people kill for two main reasons—passion or money.” His partner eyed him. “Which one do you fit?”

Taylor snorted. “Since I’m not loaded, I’m guessing passion. And there’re all kinds of passion-motived killings. Specifically hate, when it comes to cops.”

Unbidden, his nightmare intruded. Viciously, he shoved it into its box.

“Okay. Someone you, or we, arrested, then.”

“Maybe.” Rubbing his eyes, Taylor let out a tired breath. “Can we talk about this later? It might not even happen again.”

“Sure.”

Somehow, Taylor didn’t really believe that. A chill slithered down his spine, telling him this was only the start. Could be his overwrought, stressed mind, but it didn’t seem likely that was all there was to it.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and Captain Rainey stepped into Shane’s office. “We’ve got a body at the Sugarland Motel. Caller reported the sound of a gunshot, and Jenkins found the guy shot between the eyes.”

Shane stood, groaning. “And let me guess. It’s our turn.”

“Yep.” The captain looked at Taylor. “You up for this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? If I was going to laze around, I’d stay home.”

Rainey grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now, go get fucking busy.” Turning, the captain strolled out, whistling.

“He’s all heart,” Shane said, making a face.

“At least he’s in a good mood today. Wonder what’s up with that.”

Their captain was having serious marital problems—as in going down the tubes, permanently. He’d been tired and haggard the past few months, and they had all been worried about his health. Today, however, he had a spring in his step.

“No clue, but let’s not rock the boat.”

Taylor rose with some difficulty and stiffly followed his partner out the door. Turning down Shane’s offer to drive, he slid behind the wheel, and they were off.

On the way, he thought he saw a black truck in traffic, three cars behind. Then it turned and was gone.

•   •   •

As though nearly being run over wasn’t enough, the corpse with the neat little hole in the center of its forehead turned out to be a harbinger.

A sign of a shit storm heading his way.

Taylor stood next to Shane as both of them studied the dead man sprawled faceup on the floor. His salt-and-pepper hair was surrounded by a sticky pool of blood congealing on the industrial-grade carpet, and his expression was vaguely surprised.

“Who the hell was the poor bastard?” Taylor muttered. “And why did he get popped here of all places?”