Friction

“In the calf. Hurt like a mother. Entry near my shinbone. Out the back. I didn’t know at the time if it was serious or superficial. In either case, I wanted an orthopedic surgeon to work on it, not the hack in Halcon who we figured was on Fuentes’s payroll and was likely to cripple me for life. CareFlight took the seriously injured to the nearest trauma center, which was in Laredo. EMTs determined that my injury wasn’t life-threatening, so I was ferried by chopper to Houston.”

 

 

“Meanwhile, Beth was notified that you had been wounded.”

 

“And requiring surgery. But she wasn’t given any details. She must’ve pictured me barely holding on, bleeding to death, brain swelling out of my skull, something. Anyway, she grabbed Georgia and—” He stopped. “This is where we came in, judge. My turn to ask a question.”

 

“All right.”

 

“How much of this did you know yesterday when we went into court?”

 

She had been expecting a question about herself, not his custody hearing. She took several seconds to form her reply, then quietly confessed to knowing all of it. “Not the fine details, but most of it.”

 

“Um-huh,” he said, as though unsurprised. “And how much bearing did Halcon have on your decision?”

 

“I didn’t make a decision.”

 

“If you had.”

 

“I can’t quantify—”

 

“Yeah you can.”

 

She got up and carried her untouched plate of food to the counter. “We’re not going to talk about this. I’ve told you so repeatedly, starting with our first conversation last night in the hallway of police headquarters. Remember? I said then—”

 

He interrupted her by moving suddenly to bring them face-to-face. “I remember everything you said, Holly. But mostly I remember wanting to look at you while you said it.”

 

The declaration left her speechless, breathless, and, later, she wondered what would have been said or done next if his cell phone hadn’t rung.

 

Without looking away from her, he let it ring three times before yanking it from his belt. “Yeah?” He listened, then said, “I’ll be right out.”

 

As he returned his phone to his belt, he said, “Rangers are here and in place. What kind of car does Marilyn drive?”

 

She told him.

 

“Where’s your phone?”

 

She took it from her handbag, handed it over, and gave him the security code. He accessed her contacts and entered two names and cell numbers.

 

“Under Rangers. Don’t forget.” He returned the phone to her. “Keep it with you at all times and call one of them immediately if you see or hear anything. That’s what they’re there for. If you change your mind and want one of them inside the house, just ask.”

 

“It won’t be necessary.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be necessary. Don’t be ashamed to ask if only for your peace of mind. No shame in sleeping with the lights on, either.”

 

“I probably will.”

 

They exchanged a quick smile. After reattaching his holster and slipping on his jacket then he opened the door. “Lock and bolt this behind me.”

 

“I will.”

 

“You gonna be all right?”

 

“Of course. I won’t be alone for long.”

 

“Okay then, good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

He stood there straddling the threshold for several seconds, then mumbled something as he pushed the door shut and, with some quick maneuvering, managed to cage her against the adjacent wall, his hands pressed flat to it on either side of her head.

 

“Don’t,” she said.

 

“Why not? I had just as well. What have I got to lose? After the screwup with Rodriguez, the whole friggin’ mess, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting Georgia back, do I?”

 

“I can’t—”

 

“Do I?”

 

“You—”

 

“Do I?” When she made no further attempt to answer, he nodded. “Figured as much. Even if you could get past all the other, you’ll never get past what happened on that couch in there.”

 

“That has no bearing—”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I’m as much to blame for that as you.”

 

“That’s not what you said earlier tonight. You suggested I’d had an ulterior motive.”

 

“That was wrong of me. I know you didn’t plan it. I know you regret what we did.”

 

“Hell I do,” he growled. “I only regret what we didn’t.” Keeping his hands on the wall, he pressed into her softness with unmistakable implication, bending his head, and claiming her mouth with his.

 

For crissake, we didn’t even kiss, he’d said.

 

He rectified that now, fiercely and possessively, and she let him. Leaving her arms at her sides, she went limp against him and allowed him complete access to her mouth. His tongue was wild and willful, reminiscent of the urgency of last night’s coupling.

 

And then it gentled. Passion was replaced by tenderness, and that was even more undoing. The sweeps of his tongue became less aggressive, but much more intimate. Then, with a moan, he withdrew his mouth from hers, but only to bury it in her hair. His arm encircled her waist to secure her more firmly against him. She closed her arms around him and made a corresponding move to the evocative pressure he applied between her thighs.

 

They stayed that way, just holding each other, until he pulled his head up and looked into her eyes for several seconds, then pushed away from the wall and went out the door, pulling it closed behind him with a bang of finality.

 

Sandra Brown's books