Secrets of Paternity(18)

Ahh. Permission. He watched her face transform with ecstasy as he toyed  with her nipples through the lightweight T-shirt and flimsy bra. He  slipped a leg between hers, pressed his thigh to the apex and reveled in  the way she tipped her head back farther, her lips parted, a low,  throaty sound more than hinting at her response. He nipped at her  earlobe, dragged his tongue down her neck, under the neckline of her  shirt. He caught her knee, dragged her leg up and alongside his. She  drew a long, hissing breath as he moved his thigh in circles against  her. She whispered his name. He closed his mouth over her breast, pulled  lightly at the hard peak under the two layers of fabric.

Then she moved her hands, pressed them to his chest and pushed him back, not roughly but with determination.

"I can't," she said, panting, her forehead pressed to his.

"Can't what?"

"Do this. Us. It's so fast. There's so much to consider. Not just how  good it would feel for now, for the moment. There's later … ."

How good it would feel. He had no doubt it would feel spectacular. How  she found the strength to stop amazed him. Her wholehearted response  taunted him. He wanted to pleasure her, just to feel her go wild in his  arms. He didn't care if he didn't …

"Just let me-" he kissed her, ran his tongue around her lips "-take care of you."

Her breath went raggedy. "I can't … let you … do that."

"Sure you can."

"But … what about you?"

"Another time, maybe. Let me, Mysterious. Please." Their lips were  touching, breath mingling. The air was saturated with the scent of her  arousal, a silent beggar demanding satisfaction.

"What would you do?" Her voice was hushed, her interest clear.

"Let me show you." He waited a few seconds. He would give her a preview  of what they could have together, even if only for a little while. An  affair to satisfy their curiosity and get that out of the way. Those  questions would be answered, and their relationship could settle in  without ever having to wonder what it would've been like to make love.  "You don't want to leave it like this."

"You're right. I don't want to, but I have to. I'm sorry."

He took a step back, not angry but surprised and disappointed.

"I should go," she said, hesitation turning her words almost into a question.                       
       
           



       

"Okay." He had to believe there would be another time, another opportunity.

"I'll see myself out," she said, before moving quietly through the yard  and into the house. He roused himself from his stupor and followed her,  arriving at the bottom of his front steps just as she pulled away from  the curb. She waved. He just watched.

Then as he started back into the house he noticed a car parked nearby.  Dark, two-door sedan, typical of cop undercovers. He saw the silhouette  of a man inside. It struck James that the same car had been there  earlier, when he'd come outside to greet Caryn-yet the guy hadn't  followed her when she left a minute ago, a good sign. James walked close  enough to see the license plate, then closer still to check out the man  inside, who turned away as James approached. He kept walking, past the  car to the newspaper rack at the corner. He bought a paper and headed  back to his house.

Hours later the car pulled out.

In the morning it was back.





Eleven





James had a plan. He called Cassie, and she agreed to drive to his  house, park out of sight of the stranger, then follow if he followed  James. A direct confrontation would've suited him more, but would  accomplish nothing except to hear a lie, probably, and tip the guy off  that he'd been spotted. It was better to know who and where your enemies  were.

Cassie reached James by cell phone when she arrived. Deciding that if he  were a target of some sort, he would've been hit the night before, he  went down to his garage and backed out his work car, as if nothing were  different. He hit the speaker phone and dialed Cass's cell number as he  headed up the street.

"He's not following you," Cassie said.

James could see that and was glad to be wrong, although he wondered who  in the neighborhood was under surveillance, and by whom, and why. "Stay  put for a few minutes. I'll come around and park behind you, then you  can take off. I want to see what he's up to."

"Sure. How's every- Hold on. He's getting out of his car … . Jamey, he's opening your side gate. He's in your backyard."

James sped up. "Is he carrying anything?"

"Nothing I can see. I'll go for a little stroll in front of your house."

"Yeah, okay. You armed?"

"Yep."

He made the final turn that brought him back to his street, spotted a  parking space and spent little time trying to park straight. He slammed  the gearshift into Park and jogged toward his house, turning his cell  phone to vibrate as he ran. With gestures only, he signaled Cassie to  stand at the bottom of his steps, then he pulled out his gun, lifted the  gate latch and crept into his yard until he could peer through some  bushes at the back of the house.

A short, muscular man with a shaved head stood at James's back door,  running his fingers around it, probably checking for a security system.

Baldy inched to a nearby window, peered in, then checked it for wires,  too. To get him for breaking and entering, James had to be patient and  let him do what he'd planned. The silent alarm would trigger a signal to  a pager in James's pocket, which he'd already turned off, and at his  office, which meant that his boss, Quinn Gerard, would come running, if  he was there.

Baldy pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and appeared to punch a  speed dial button. James picked up a word now and then but not whole  sentences. He gathered that the guy was asking for advice. James heard  the words alarm and risk. Then the cell phone was put away and he looked  around the yard. James jerked back, out of sight. The sound of glass  breaking followed. Baldy had broken in. The alarm was triggered, but he  didn't know it yet.

James peeked around the corner again. The guy stood in place as if  waiting for an alarm or a neighbor. When he decided enough time had  passed, he reached through the broken glass on the back door and  unlocked it. Glass crunched under his feet as he tiptoed into the house.

James followed.

He crouched as he ran under the windows then slipped silently into his  house, scraping the glass bits from the bottom of his shoes before he  stepped onto the kitchen floor. He swore silently. He hadn't let Cassie  know he'd gone in. Bad move, going in without backup, even though he'd  done it for years as a bounty hunter. He knew better. Too late now,  though. At least she would be guarding the front.

Noise came from his office, the sound of paper being shuffled. He moved  with his back to the wall, inching his way toward the room. When he  reached the doorway he peered in. Baldy was stuffing Paul's papers into  the boxes James had emptied last night. All that work, all the sorting  James had done, was in shambles.                       
       
           



       

"Hands up!" James shouted as he entered the room, blocking the doorway, his weapon drawn.

Wearing his panic like a too-big overcoat, Baldy sought an escape route.

"Put the box down and your hands up," James said, making a point of aiming his gun at the man's heart.

Baldy bent over then suddenly heaved the box at James's midsection,  spinning him around and almost knocking him over as the crook sped out  of the room, adrenaline giving him extra speed and strength. James had  no defensible reason to shoot him, so he went after him, lunging,  catching him by the jacket and yanking, but the guy slipped out of the  sleeves and kept going-through the kitchen, across the broken glass, out  the back door, into the yard, over the fence.

James followed, but the guy was at least fifteen years younger, and he  cleared fences in a single bound. He was long gone by the time James  climbed the second fence.

He made his way to the sidewalk. Cassie spotted him and came running. Quinn pulled into his driveway. The gang was all there.

James hooked a thumb over his shoulder as Cassie reached him. "He does a helluva superhero imitation. He's gone."

"What's going on?" Quinn asked when he reached them.

"Let's go in the house." His ego stung, James led the way. He remembered  why he'd gotten out of the bounty hunting business. He couldn't keep up  with the young outlaws who could run faster and longer than he could.  It struck him then that another six or seven years from now when his  hoped-for child would want to play baseball with him, that he might not  be able to. The thought depressed him further.