‘Actually, I changed it to Corcoran.’
Silence. ‘Why?’
‘It was Gran’s maiden name. I didn’t change back to Sullivan because I didn’t want to lead anyone to you and Dad.’ She hesitated. ‘Because I was being stalked. For the last year.’
‘Oh my God. That’s why you moved? That horrible Peter Combs? He’s behind this?’
‘Possibly. I don’t know anymore. Dad needs to know that Gran’s house may come up in the news. I am fine. I am safe. I can tell him so, so that he doesn’t worry himself any sicker.’
‘I gave him a sedative. He’s asleep. I may go to sleep for a while too. I was up most of the night with him and I’m beat. You need to call back in a few hours. And give me a number where you’ll actually pick up.’
‘I have to get another new cell phone. But call this number.’ She recited Novak’s cell number. ‘That’s the FBI agent. He’ll know how to reach me once they put me in a safe house.’
Lily sighed. ‘You going to a safe house is the best news I’ve heard. I love you, Faith.’
‘I love you too. Go to sleep, Lily. I’ll call back as soon as I can.’
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 8.10 A.M.
Finally, he thought as Novak’s garage door started to open. It was about time the white-haired bastard got back. He’d gotten lucky. This corner was a school bus stop, and loads of soccer moms had lined up in their own minivans, waiting with their kids for the bus. He blended right in. But the bus had come a few minutes before and all the moms had left. He couldn’t have stayed here much longer. He didn’t want any of Novak’s neighbors to notice the silver minivan loitering on the curb and call a cop.
He climbed out of the driver’s seat, over the console to the bench seat in the middle where he’d thrown the golf bag that held his rifle. Damn vans these days didn’t have middle windows that went up and down. Just in and out at an angle, clearing a few inches at most.
But a few inches would be enough. He’d parked in exactly the right place to set his sight on Novak’s driveway, just in case the bastard brought Faith home with him.
It was far more likely they’d put her in a safe house, but it always paid to be prepared.
If Faith was with Novak, he’d be able to take out the Fed as he pulled into his driveway. If she leaned over to help the man, he’d be able to get her too. If she was too wary and stayed down, he had plenty of time before any help could arrive to drive up behind them, get out of his minivan, and shoot her up close and personal. Even if she was smart enough to call for help.
And if Novak hadn’t brought her home, he’d go to her eventually.
I can be patient. I have to be. He went still, finger on the trigger of his rifle. Here he comes. Driving a sedan. Because I shot up his SUV, he thought with a pang of regret. At this angle, the sedan would be a harder target. He squinted, trying to see through the car’s windshield into the front seat, but the sun reflected off the glass. Dammit.
Was she with him? He didn’t want to kill Novak if she wasn’t. There would be no one else who’d be predictable enough to lead him to her.
At the last moment, the sedan floored it, rubber burning as it took the turn into the driveway. The car zipped into the garage and the door started down before he could draw a single breath.
‘Fuck.’ He’d expected the man to slow down as he pulled into the garage. Any rational person would slow the fuck down. The white-haired bastard had nearly taken out his own garage door. Novak was insane.
Which was kind of ironic, actually. He was pretty sure Novak felt the same way about him.
Breathe. Calm down. He eased his finger off the trigger. Novak’s insanity must have had a purpose. It must mean that he’d brought Faith home with him. She was in the house at this very moment.
His finger itched to shoot in every window in a hail of gunfire. But that wouldn’t be wise. They could hunker down and shoot back. Call in hundreds of cops.
But at least he knew where she was. Novak wouldn’t stay in the house too long. He had a killer to catch, after all. He might take Faith with him when he left. If so, I’ll be prepared.
And if Novak left her behind?
He smiled. Even if she was armed, she was a lousy shot. The time he’d climbed in her bedroom window, she’d barely nicked him. It would be like taking candy from a baby.
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 8.15 A.M.
Deacon eyed his bed as he toweled his wet head, tempted to lie down just to close his eyes for a few minutes. I’m so tired.
Now, if Faith herself were lying on his rumpled sheets, that would be an entirely different matter. He let himself imagine it, feeling his body grow hard.
She’d considered it too. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the blush of her cheeks. Soon, he thought. Soon they’d be able to explore the chemistry that she’d called ‘crazy’. It scared her a little. It scared him too.
For the first time in his career, he found himself putting off his duty. He didn’t want to leave her here alone. That two perfectly capable federal agents would be guarding her was immaterial. He wanted to be here. He needed to be here.
But he needed her to stay alive even more. So he dragged on his boxers, cracking his bedroom door open so that he could hear if she needed him. Mmm, bacon. The aroma wafted upstairs, along with coffee. He would have worshipped her for the coffee alone.
Hurrying now, he reached for his trousers, spinning at the muffled cry behind him. Faith stood in the open doorway, hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
He crossed the room in two strides, yanking her through the door, pushing her up against the bedroom wall. Covering her body with his, he peered into the hall. ‘What is it? Who’s there?’
‘Nobody,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s your back. It looks really bad. I was surprised, that’s all. Can you let me breathe? You’re squashing me.’
He backed up a few inches. ‘I’ve had worse,’ he assured her, cognizant that her gaze had dropped from his face to his body. That he still gripped her arm.
And that his boxers were doing nothing to disguise the fact that he’d grown even harder in the last ten seconds. The room was warm, the air thick. He let her stare, waiting for her to say something. Do something. Touch me.
Cheeks pink, she raised her eyes to his face. She licked her bottom lip, then bit it. He heard a low rumbling growl. Realized it had come from his throat.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered huskily. But she didn’t move. Didn’t make any attempt to pull her arm free. Her eyes dropped again and he felt the warmth of her slow exhale against his damp chest. Then the tentative brush of her fingertips over the hair on his chest.
He held his breath, hoping she’d do it again. Closing his eyes when she did, cursing silently as she petted his hair so lightly that he thought he’d go insane. Wishing that she’d pet lower. Knowing he’d explode if she did. He captured her exploring hand, flattening it against his chest, bringing the hand he still held to his lips.
‘Why are you?’ he made himself ask, his voice like gravel.
‘Why am I what?’ she asked. That she sounded dazed did amazing things for his ego.
He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth when he saw the top of her head. She was still staring down at him. ‘Here, Faith? Why are you here?’
Her body abruptly stiffened, the moment broken. She laughed shakily as she slipped from his grip and turned her back on him. ‘Those agents are here. I didn’t want to let them in until you said it was okay. I saw your door cracked open and thought . . . I mean, I didn’t think that . . . God,’ she said weakly. ‘Can you put on some clothes, please?’
He cleared his throat, unable to keep the grin from his face. ‘I opened the door so that I could listen for any trouble, but I didn’t hear them knock.’ He pulled on his trousers, wincing as he carefully zipped them.
She turned then, her face beautifully flushed. Her lower lip was plumped from her little bites. Her eyes were dark. Hungry. It was
all he could do not to reach for her again.
‘They didn’t knock. I heard a noise outside the back door. I figured it was them, but peeked through the blinds to be sure.’
That brought him back to reality. He chose a clean shirt from his closet, frowning at her. ‘I thought I asked you to stay away from the windows.’
‘You didn’t ask me. You told me.’ She crossed the room, stilling his hand when he started to put on the shirt. Her fingertips brushed over his shoulder, lightly probing his bruised back. ‘I’m not stupid, Deacon. I stood next to the window, not in front of it. Does this shoulder hurt as much as it looks like it does?’
‘Hurts more a few feet lower,’ he muttered and had the pleasure of watching her eyes flash as she bit her lower lip again. Instinct took over and he pivoted, lightly gripping her chin, lowering his mouth to hers, intending to nip that lip himself. But she met him partway, lifting on her toes, surprising him again, and the kiss exploded.
He tightened his grip on her chin and let himself devour her mouth the way he’d wanted to while she’d been staring at his cock with such hunger. A step had her back flat against the closet door; the second step had him shoving himself between her spread thighs, his hands closing over her breasts. She gasped and he took the advantage, licking into her mouth, his hips rocking into her body, thrusting harder when she made greedy little noises that only wound him tighter.
Her hands flattened on his chest, her fingers furrowing through hair as they dug into his skin, body straining toward his. He let go of her breasts long enough to grab her hips and lift her the few inches he needed to hit the sweet spot between her legs. She moaned deep in her throat, locking her ankles around his calves, sliding her hands up his chest to lock around his neck. She clung to him like a vine, all revving motion, her hips meeting his thrusts, battering at his sanity.
‘I need to touch you,’ he gritted against her lips. ‘Let me touch you. Please.’
‘Yes.’ She peppered hard kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, back to his mouth. ‘God, yes.’
He shoved his hands between their bodies, yanking at the snap on her jeans, his fingers shaking as he pushed the zipper down. He was absurdly happy when he touched lace, then he delved beneath it and couldn’t think at all. She was hot. So damn hot.
And so damn wet. As his fingers slid through her folds, she made a little sound, half whimper, half moan, and he needed to get deeper more than he needed to breathe. Cupping her butt with his free hand, he hitched her higher against the door, pinning her with his thigh as he eased one finger up into that tight, wet heat.
She went perfectly still, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. Her mouth opened in a small, silent O. Mesmerized, he could only stare.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. And then she started to move, slowly riding his hand. Squeezing his finger hard. Any blood that had remained above his neck instantly drained to his cock.
He inserted a second finger less gently than he had the first, pumping as hard and fast as he could with her jeans still on. He wanted them off, he thought wildly. Desperately. Wanted to see her. Wanted to taste her. Wanted to feel her come around him.
He dropped his face to the curve of her neck. Tasted her skin. Kissed his way lower as he pumped harder and faster. He could see her nipples poking against the silk of her shirt and he wanted them, too. Blindly he closed his mouth over a hardened peak, sucking through the silk, hitching her a little higher against the door, driving his fingers even deeper.
She gasped, her body going taut as a strung bow. On the edge, he realized, but not there. So he bit her, closing his teeth over her nipple just hard enough to shove her over, dragging a strangled cry from her throat as she came in a rush.
Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him, dazed and sated, while he was still so hungry. He glanced at the bed. He could have her there in two steps.
He was so hard that he hurt, and she was looking at him like he was a king. He slowly withdrew his hand from her heat, holding her gaze as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked. So damn good.
If he didn’t have her soon, he was going to die.
‘Oh God,’ she breathed, her hands trembling against the back of his neck. Her pulse knocked at the hollow of her throat. ‘That was . . .’
Don’t say unwise. Don’t say it was a mistake. That I was a mistake. Say it was amazing. That I am amazing. Tell me you want me inside you. He closed his eyes. Please.
‘Beautiful,’ she whispered, and his eyes flew open. She was staring at him, her green eyes darker, yet somehow luminous. ‘You made it beautiful. You made me feel . . . beautiful.’
‘Because you are,’ he whispered back.
He watched her glance guiltily at the bed, then back at him, and for a long moment they hung there, staring at each other, lust warring with indecision.
And then the doorbell rang, jarring them back to reality.
‘It’s the Feds,’ she whispered in a disgusted way that made him chuckle, despite the tightness in his groin.
‘I’m a Fed, too.’ He lowered her until her feet touched the floor, then hurriedly shrugged into his shirt. ‘You stay here. I’ll let them in.’
She looked down pointedly. ‘Better not tuck your shirt in for a while.’
He laughed, amazed that he could be delighted and sexually frustrated at the same time. ‘I won’t. Should I ask if they want breakfast too?’
‘If they want to take their lives in their hands, sure.’
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 8.55 A.M.
If he’d harbored any doubts that Faith was in Novak’s house, he harbored them no longer. From his minivan across the street, he watched Novak open the door to two more Feds. Big guys, both wearing black suits. Both looking like they could crush a man’s skull with their bare hands.
They were Faith’s security detail. She must have told them something pretty damn important to score federal protection. What had that been?
How nervous he allowed himself to become depended on exactly what she’d revealed. He needed to know. And in the meantime, he needed to make sure she didn’t tell them anything else. Draw her out of that house. If you can’t, you’ll just have to wait her out.
He checked his watch with a grimace. The Feds guarding Faith would be looking for anything suspicious. Like a man sitting in a minivan for what had already been too long a period of time. A minivan that was also a liability.
Eventually someone would see the minivan owner’s body lying beneath his old van in the grocery store’s parking lot. The cops would put out a BOLO on her vehicle.
With me sitting in it, right here in plain sight.
He needed to get another vehicle. He needed a place to hide where he’d have a bird’s-eye view of Novak’s garage and front doors, so he’d know when the Fed left and if Faith was with him. He’d be able to get a few shots off before the others came after him. And if he couldn’t get them in his sights, he could follow them without attracting the attention of the security detail.
He knew just which house to choose. At a minimum, he could hide the minivan it its garage. If he was lucky, the garage might hold a car he could steal.
I could get warm. Eat. Sleep a little. He hadn’t eaten in hours. Hadn’t slept in days.
He wondered if the house’s owner was home, and if he was, how hard he’d be to kill.
Chapter Seventeen
Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 9.30 A.M.
Deacon looked for a place to park. He was only about a block from Jordan O’Bannion’s town house, but parking in Mount Adams was hard to come by. Deacon had only been here before as a tourist. It was one of the trendiest areas of the city, with bars, a nightlife and expensive real estate with great views of the river.
Faith’s uncle had left a message on Deacon’s voicemail at the precinct the night before, sounding frantic, demanding when he could see his niece and oh, by the way, what the hell was going on around his family’s old homestead.
His concern seemed a little odd coming from the man who’d taken Faith to R-rated movies and given her cigarettes when she was only fifteen, but Jordan had been younger at the time, Deacon supposed. Only twenty-six, Faith had said.
Although at the same age, Deacon had already joined the Bureau and had twice petitioned the courts for the custody of his brother. Both times he’d been denied, the judge deciding that a married couple in a stable household was in the best interest of the child.
At the time he’d been devastated, confident that he could raise Greg better than Tammy and Jim. Now, he wondered if that was true.
Think about Greg later, like when you’re in the principal’s office. Focus on Jordan now.
Jordan’s townhouse looked to be turn-of-the century and was painted a periwinkle blue. The dormer windows on the third floor probably had a killer view of the park below. Deacon knew he was easily looking at a cool million in real estate. No wonder Jordan hadn’t wanted that drafty old house, he thought. Faith’s uncle was sitting on a goldmine here.
Deacon walked up to the brightly painted door and knocked. Nobody answered and he could hear no sounds inside. But he did hear something out back. He had to jog down three houses so that he could hook around behind them. A woman stood in Jordan’s back yard, raking leaves.
‘Excuse me, miss?’
The woman looked up, startled. She was mid to late twenties and wore her dark blonde hair in a rather severe bun. She backed up a few steps when she saw him. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Special Agent Novak with the FBI. I’m looking for Mr O’Bannion.’
‘He’s not here,’ the woman said in a hushed tone.
‘Do you know where he is? I really need to talk to him. It’s about his niece.’
‘Faith,’ she said. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine,’ Deacon said truthfully. Faith was incredibly fine. ‘I didn’t get your name.’
The woman arched dark brows. ‘I didn’t give one,’ she said, her voice just a hint louder than a whisper. ‘I’m Mary Jones, Mr O’Bannion’s housekeeper.’