Trial by Fire (22 page)

“Die, you mangy bastard,” the monster gloated, releasing his helpless prey, getting to his feet.

And drawing back his boot for the killing blow.

Howard jolted awake with a strangled shout on his lips. Blood pounded in his ears, thrumming in ruthless tempo to the headache knifing his skull. For one horrifying moment he glanced around wildly, half expecting to find himself trapped in the nightmarish past. His broken and dying shell clinging to life. Abandoned and forgotten.

But the tentacles of long ago gave way to the present light of day seeping through the vertical blinds. To blessed reality. He’d survived, though not completely unscathed.

This crap had to be a suppressed memory. The details were becoming too clearly defined, the curtain lifting a little more each time. The nightmare wasn’t just a by-product of the abuse, as he’d hoped.

No, his flight of terror had been real. He was almost certain.

And even more certain that out of sheer, gut-level self-preservation, he didn’t want the scenario to become any clearer.

Some doors were better left sealed forever.

Kat watched Howard sleep, thinking love ought to be simple, and rarely was. Not even in fairy tales.

After picking her up from school in his enormous truck—to the delight and rampant curiosity of her friends and coworkers—Howard had been polite and solicitous all afternoon. Over a pleasant dinner at Don Poncho’s, they’d made
nice
conversation about
nice
, safe topics until she’d wanted to scream at him to get real. To talk to her the way he’d done at the park, reveal more about himself.

Following dinner, there hadn’t been any talking at all. Forgoing the movie, he’d driven them to his house, carried her to his bedroom, and made love to her with fierce urgency, as though she might disappear any minute. Then again from behind, slow and deep, savoring every inch of their bodies joined as one.

A gentle half smile curved her mouth. The sexy devil had managed to distract her yet again. For hours. Even now, at three in the morning, she couldn’t sleep for the sheer thrill of simply looking at him.

Howard was sprawled on his stomach, his face toward her, hugging his pillow, one arm draped over the pillow behind his head, the other arm buried underneath it. The position caused the ropy muscles in his biceps and broad back to bunch admirably. Her gaze traveled down his spine to the indention at the small of his back, which she found oddly endearing, to his bare, sculpted buttocks. Then on to his long legs, entangled in the sheets.

Warming inside, she let her gaze roam to his face, so vulnerable in sleep, his hair untamed, poking in every direction. Long, dark lashes curled against his stubbled cheek. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed in and out, his back rising and falling.

She’d never had the chance to observe Howard this way before, and the man made a darned fetching sight. Especially when he had no clue he was being studied.

A quiet sound issued from his throat, very much like a whimper, and Kat frowned. His arms tightened around the pillow, and his breathing grew shallow. Frantic.

“Noo,” he moaned, big body jerking as though receiving a blow. “No, please . . . don’t . . .”

“Howard?” She laid a hand on his back, and he flinched like she’d struck him. “Sweetie, wake up.”

“I’ll be good,” he whispered, ducking his head. “Daddy, stop.”

She tried again, shaking his shoulder hard. “Honey, it’s Kat. Wake up!”

His lashes fluttered open and he stared at her, suspended between worlds. Even in the darkness she saw his eyes were moist, fathomless with untold pain. He blinked, awareness of his surroundings returning, though the haunted shadow in his expression remained.

“Kat?”

Nodding, she stroked his hair, combing her fingers through the soft strands at his temple. “It’s me. You were having a nightmare.”

Heaving a deep sigh, he sat up and ran a shaking hand down his face. “God. I’m sorry, baby.”

Sitting up to see him better, she touched his arm in a gesture of comfort. “I was already awake, and even if I wasn’t, there’s no need to apologize.” She hesitated, then tried nudging him toward opening up. “Tell me about it?”

A nudge he apparently had no wish to act upon now any more than he had earlier, judging from the grim set of his mouth. “No. It’s ancient history, not important anymore.”

“How often do you have these nightmares?” She guessed that this wasn’t a rare thing. He’d dismissed the disturbing episode much too easily. His shrug confirmed her suspicions. “Obviously something is bothering you if this happens a lot. You should talk to someone. Who knows? It might help.”

Turning to her, he lowered his lips to hers. “You do help me, pretty Katherine. Just by being here with me, just by being you.”

Not fair, dammit!
The man was incorrigible. Insatiable. “Wait—”

Instantly, he had her flat on her back, his hard length pressed against her thigh. Determined not to let him get his way this time, she tore her mouth from his and pushed at his chest. Which was a bit like trying to move a bus.

“No, Howard! Get off me.”

Stiffening, he stared at her like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“You heard me. Rev down that turbo-charged libido and give me a break before you wear me out.”

“Oh. Sorry.” His disappointment was palpable as he unwrapped himself from her and scooted to lay on his side, facing her.

“I mean, three times in one day,” she teased, attempting to soften what he obviously saw as a rejection.

“I was saving up for the right woman,” he protested, a little sulkily.

“Me, too, for the right man.” She smiled at him in the darkness, touched his face.

“Am I? The right man?”

She felt the weight of his stare, heard the longing behind the casual question. “I can’t imagine wanting anyone else, Lieutenant,” she said honestly. That didn’t exactly give him a direct answer, but it was the best he’d get for now. Until she was sure about his feelings and her place in his life.

Until Howard was comfortable sharing his deepest thoughts and emotions without using sex as an evasive maneuver.

Rolling to his back, he opened his arms. “Hold you?”

Without hesitation, she snuggled into his warmth. Into the circle of his strong arms, protecting her from all the bad stuff life might throw in her direction.

But who would protect Howard?

A chill whispered over her bare skin and she burrowed closer, trying to dispel the notion that she and Howard were rushing toward disaster. A train wreck of cataclysmic proportions.

Who was operating the controls? She and Howard, or a ruthless killer bent on ruining her lover’s life? And why was she certain the three of them were impossibly entwined?

Nothing made sense, and she was too sleepy to think about terrible visions of impending doom. Nothing bad was going to happen to either of them, from any source.

Their relationship would strengthen, continue to grow.

And the police would catch the murderer.

She had to believe that, because the alternative was too awful to consider.

Howard pressed ten pounds of seasoned ground beef into hamburger patties and laid them on two huge silver trays, one by one. Sure, he could’ve done those frozen ready-to-cook kind from the store, especially for a large crowd. But they tasted like cardboard hockey pucks, and only the best would do for Bentley’s birthday.

And for Kat. Yeah, he admitted he wanted to impress her. He wanted her to love Bentley, Georgie, and his friends. It was important to him that she enjoy herself. Grace, too. He was glad Kat’s sister was tagging along. Kat bringing Grace seemed significant somehow, though he didn’t dig too deeply into why.

Patting out the last burger, he glanced at the kitchen wall clock. Kat and Grace would arrive in an hour, a little after everyone else. He’d asked Kat to come over before the other guests, but Grace had a last-minute problem to deal with regarding a client, right in the middle of their planned shopping excursion, and Kat insisted on waiting to accompany her. Defense lawyers never rested, he supposed.

After washing his hands, he studied the place with a critical eye. Spotless. He’d worked his ass off to make today perfect, and his modest house gleamed.

Outside, the cool, sunny fall day couldn’t be more gorgeous. Extra chairs were arranged on the deck and lawn. The umbrella had been raised over the picnic table, the grill cleaned and ready. Two metal washtubs of beer, wine, and soda were iced down in one corner of the deck.

Some of the guys, like Jules and Clayton Montana from B-shift, would bring hard liquor. Though he personally didn’t touch any of the stuff, alcohol was fine as long as everyone drank responsibly. If not, they’d get their keys taken and find themselves settled in his guest room or on the sofa.

He hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. Three or more bodies would make a definite crowd. Last night, on his thankfully quiet Friday shift, he’d missed Kat to the point that their forced separation made him nuts. Two nights of her in his bed, making love at leisure, already had him spoiled.

Damn, he wanted more—and not just more sex.

More of Katherine McKenna.

And didn’t
that
scare the hell out of a confirmed bachelor?

He tore open a package of tortilla chips and dumped them into a plastic bowl without really paying attention. Instead, he saw Kat’s white smile lighting her from the inside out, her vibrant optimism and simple joy of living bathing him like rays of the sun. Loosening a tight, hard knot inside his chest. Making him wonder if it was truly possible to place total trust in another person, to risk devastating your soul for the abstract promise of love and forever.

The scene shifted, and he pictured her on her hands and knees, round bottom thrust upward, legs spread wide. Plump curves and willing flesh, the gleaming, juicy peach of her folds his for the taking. Wet and hot, inviting him inside. Her blond head thrown back with a cry as he plunged his cock into her moist sex—

The insistent peal of the doorbell shattered the orgasmic memory. Muttering an oath, he frowned at his erection. His loose khaki cargo shorts and blue polo worn untucked helped to cover his dilemma, just barely.

By the time he reached the front door, he had the situation semi-subdued. Finding his parents waiting on the threshold deflated the problem altogether.

“Sweetheart, you look wonderful!” Georgie cried, stepping inside. Reaching up, she cupped his face in both small hands and pulled him in for a loud smooch on the mouth, followed by a rather bone-crunching embrace for such a tiny lady. “Where have you been, son?”

Lord, he loved this woman. The petite brunette gave and gave, with very little thought for herself, never asking more than that he stop by once in a while for pie and coffee.

Emotion squeezed his throat, and Howard had to clear it before he could respond. “I’ve been busy, gorgeous. The chief’s a slave driver, but then you know better than I do,” he said, releasing her. “Jeez, you’re lookin’ fine. You’d better not be dieting again, ’cause you don’t need to lose the weight.”

“Oh, pooh!” Georgie smoothed her crisp beige slacks, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t change the subject. You get two days off at a stretch and can’t even make time for a bowl of my peach cobbler anymore. Who is she?”

Sharp as a tack, and direct. That was Georgie.

“Now, honey, don’t harass the boy about his love life the second we walk in,” Bentley admonished good-naturedly, albeit with the familiar bark to his tone that made grown men cower. Grown men, maybe, but not his feisty little wife.

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” Balling one fist, a scowling Georgie punched her husband in the arm, which had the effect of a fly swatting a bull. “How am I supposed to know what’s going on with our boy when he keeps his lips sealed tighter than Ernestine Judd wears her support hose?”

Bentley rolled his eyes. “There’s an image we need before we eat.” He turned to Howard, sticking out a big hand. “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

He clasped Bentley’s hand and found himself pulled into a hard embrace, the older man’s other arm coming around his shoulders. Returning the hug, he slapped Bentley on the back. “No trouble at all,” he said gruffly. “Happy birthday, big guy.”

Happy birthday,
Dad.
The sudden, overwhelming urge to call Bentley “Dad” almost bowled him over. Why couldn’t he say what he really felt to the man who’d given him everything? What was so difficult about that?

But the moment was lost as Bentley withdrew and straightened, blinking away the suspicious moisture in his eyes. “Balloons?” he snorted, waving a hand at the festive latex and the streamers hanging from the doorways and ceiling fans. “I’m too damned old for balloons.”

Georgie grinned. “Relax, Ben, dear. At least they’re not black.”

“Huh. You got a beer around here, or did you spend it all on ice cream and Pin the Tail on the Donkey?”

Howard laughed, not fooled by the grumpy facade. “For you, I’ve got plenty of brewskis. Out on the deck.”

Georgie led the way, marching into the kitchen, enthusing over how much preparation he’d done for the party. Her voice drifted ahead of them, and Howard started after her, only to find himself stopped by Bentley’s firm grip on his arm. Surprised, he turned to see the older man’s face serious, and more than a little upset. An unseen fist punched a hole in his stomach. He didn’t have to ask why.