HUNTING (PAVAD) Read online

  She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Probably not ever.

  Jules pushed against the hard chest above her until he got the message. “I can’t do this.”

  “Feels like you can to me.” But he pulled away from her. “I guess you’re too afraid to take the risk. I never thought you were a coward.”

  “Yes, yes I am.” Jules shivered and tugged the blankets over her. Covered herself from toes to chin. “I’m the biggest damned coward I know.”

  “A coward doesn’t do the things you do, sweetheart. You’ve fought since we met. Me, Stephenson, even Byrum in the woods that day. You shot him, remember. When are you going to stop fighting yourself so hard? Give yourself some slack?”

  She flipped over on her opposite side, facing away from him and scooting as close to the edge of the mattress as she could get. Now she regretted the impulse to share the bed. At the time, she’d wanted to rattle him and she had; but now...If she got out of the bed, he’d win. He’d know that he’d gotten to her. But what did that matter, anyway? She scrambled over him and off the mattress. “Give me a blanket.”

  He didn’t say a word, but his expression said it all for him. Jules flopped onto the lumpy couch and spread the blanket over her. It was uncomfortable, but far better than the alternative. She closed her eyes, determined to block him out. She couldn’t deal with Malachi Brockman, not anymore. Not now.

  She wiped a stray tear away with one hand, pulling the blanket to her chin with the other. Was he right? Would she be a bad choice for Ruthie because of it? Should she just back away and let the little girl wait, possibly finding a better set of parents? Who else would want a child whose father was a bigamist, rapist, and a serial killer? Could she do that—let Ruthie sit in a foster home until someone else chose her?

  Jules didn’t know. All she knew was that the thought of that little girl as alone as Jules herself was made her unbearably sad and willing to do anything to see that that child had at least one parent to love her. Like Jules never had. But what if she inadvertently ended up doing more harm than good?

  He shifted on the bed, and she listened to the springs creak. She squeezed her eyes shut as the tears started. When they’d been kidnapped she’d found his presence comforting. That wasn’t the case now.

  * * *

  Malachi knew she was crying, even though she’d not made a single sound. He fought the urge to go to her or to apologize—anything to erase the last six minutes. But for one of the first times in his adult life he didn’t know what to say or do. So he said and did nothing.

  Her breathing finally slowed and the last bit of tension slipped from the room. He pushed his own blanket back and stood. He stared down at her in the low light for a long moment. So scrawny, so almost frail at times. Yet she gave as good as she got. Did she realize that she appeared more alive when she was fighting him? He half saw the spark of the Julia from those videos of Georgia’s when they fought. That Julia was in there somewhere. He put one arm under her knees and the other behind her back.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d carried Julia. He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the scent that had haunted his dreams for weeks. He held her against his chest for several long moments, just thinking.

  He slipped her onto the bed’s generic sheets, then covered her chastely with the blankets. She had a big day tomorrow, and had had a long one today. It was only right that he let her have the bed. He brushed fingers down her cheek and resisted every urge he had to kiss her again.

  This damned woman was going to be the end of him. He had no doubts about that.

  Some of her hair was damp. He combed his fingers through it, reconfirming how soft he remembered it to be. For such a prickly little shrew, she was so remarkably soft.

  She shifted toward his hand, whispering what he assumed was her dead husband’s name. Malachi stiffened, inexplicably hurt. He forced himself to relax. Of course she was dreaming of the dead man—he was the last man she’d chosen to sleep with. Subconsciously, she probably thought he was the other man. “I love you.”

  Malachi fought an unholy strong urge to whisper the words right back.

  ***

  Malachi jerked awake some hours later when the woman in the bed started thrashing. Whimpers were coming through the darkness as she fought the blanket’s hold on her. He sat up and threw his blanket back, ignoring the room’s cold.

  “Julia.” He reached for the light but nothing happened. “Julia, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  He shook her until the stiffening of her body told him she’d woken. “Mattie? Where’s Mattie?”

  “Is that who you were dreaming about?” Malachi kept his tone calm as he reached for his cell and flipped on the auxiliary light. 3:19 a.m. “I’m sure Matthew is safe in his bed right now.”

  “Malachi?”

  The vulnerability he remembered from the North St. Louis basement was clear in her voice again. He also didn’t miss the fear. It went straight through him. “Yes?”

  Deep breaths were her only response. He scooped her up again. She squeaked. Small hands clenched around his arms, clung. It was so tempting to drop a kiss to her forehead and tuck her tight against his chest. He did just that, and then pulled the blanket tighter around them both. “The power’s out.”

  She drew in a breath, and then stiffened against him. He manfully tried to ignore the way her chest had reacted to the cold. He was a gentleman, after all. At least, according to his mother, he was. In times like this, he wondered.

  “That’s why it’s so cold.”

  “Yes. What were you dreaming about?” Malachi brushed a hand down her hair. “It helps to talk about them, you know?”

  “With you? I don’t think so.” This time the sarcasm in her voice made him smile. Her number one defense mechanism. Sarcasm. Always at the forefront. She’d snark at him when the lights were on, he realized; but in the dark when she was vulnerable, she clung, cuddled, and needed reassurance. He didn’t mind that at all. He far preferred this softer Julia to the one that bit and spit at him all the time. And if she’d let him, he’d hold her all night.

  “You’re not the only one who has nightmares. Georgia and Ana both have woken me before. Ana’s got a scream that once woke an entire hotel after she’d had a particularly bad one.” Malachi slid from the bed, shivering. “Stay here, I’ll get those extra blankets from the bureau. It’ll be a cold night, but we’ll be fine and I’m sure there’s a backup generator.”

  He hurried, draping the three generic cotton blankets he’d found over the comforter. It wasn’t ideal, but with the two of them staying close they should be able to generate enough body heat to be ok.

  Her teeth were chattering when he slid back under the blankets. She didn’t fight him when he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her back against his chest. The smell of her hair surrounded him.

  “So what do you dream about, then?” Her words were low and he almost missed them.

  He thought for a moment before answering. “Failure.”

  She sniffed. “Figures.”

  “Not nice.”

  She sighed then relaxed against him. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  “I see Georgia on a Seattle rooftop bleeding to death in Hellbrook’s arms from that sniper. I see Ana stuck in an elevator as the building burns around her. I see you lying on Georgia’s floor with Matthew crying over you, and worst of all...I hear your actual screams as we’re attacked in my own damned driveway. Each and every time I can’t get to any of you. I know I failed all of you—especially you. And then I wonder which of the people I care about I’ll fail next. And when I wake, I wonder which one I will fail completely. Who will die in front of me.”

  ***

  Jules felt the breath back up in her throat as he voiced what was her deepest fear. She’d lived his fear. She’d failed with Rick and Brian. They’d died and she’d not been able to help them. Her Rick had been dead when she’d reached their car, but Brian had lived for a quarter of an hour. Desp
ite all her medical training she’d not been able to save Matthew’s father.

  “I understand.” She whispered the words because she did understand. “It was Stephenson this time, and he’d pulled Matthew from the cabinet where he was hiding and took him. I couldn’t stop him from taking him, then I couldn’t find them. I kept ending up in the North St. Louis basement.”

  His arms tightened around her just as they had in that basement. He had extremely strong arms; she’d noticed that about him before. Now they were warm and comforting. She needed that. Just for a little while.

  “How often do you dream about that day?”

  “Couple of times a week,” Jules admitted. Had she told anyone else that? What did it mean that she still dreamed about Roger Stephenson hurting her? Hurting Georgia and Mattie.

  “Because they are your family, love.” She felt his words against the skin of her neck and she fought the urge to shiver and arch closer. He was warm and strong and real. “They mean the most to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve spoken with MCFP Springfield about Stephenson. He’s never getting out.”

  “I know.” That was one thing that consoled her. She understood Stephenson’s motivations to some extent. Grief and loss could drive a person insane, and knowing that he had killed the woman he loved had driven him over the edge. But he’d nearly killed her and could have killed Georgia or Hell. That she couldn’t forgive. “Eddie keeps me informed.”

  “Eddie. Why do you call him that and no one else?” She heard the irritation and it made her mouth quirk. Why did it bother him so badly? It was just a nickname.

  “Brian did.” Jules leaned her head back against the headboard. “We’d teased him that Eddie would eat him alive for just looking at Georgia. Brian said he’d walk right in, shake Eddie’s hand, and all would be great. And he did. He and Rick—and I—called him Eddie after that.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone walking up to Ed Dennis and calling him Eddie. He must have been a remarkable man.”

  “He was. They both were.” She’d never spoken of her husband with anyone other than Georgia and it had her disconcerted. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t quite as sharp as she expected. She felt herself smile as she remembered the brash way her brother-in-law had walked into Edward Dennis’s office that day. “Always laughing about something. Anything. Their patients absolutely loved them. I sold their practice after...”

  He said nothing, but his arm tightened around her. For just one moment she wanted to do nothing more than lay her head on his chest and be close to someone again. Her favorite times with Rick had been when they’d curl up together on the couch and watch reruns.

  But this wasn’t Rick and she was certainly aware of that. Jules pulled away. He let her. It was a long time before they slept.

  She woke with the sun in her eyes and curled on his lap. On his very aroused male lap. God, wasn’t anything on this man normal? Or at least normal sized? He didn’t feel like the average-sized male, the part of him pressing into her hip felt huge. So huge she was afraid to move. One of two things could happen—he could wake up and catch her on his lap or she could inadvertently hurt him.

  Still, how the heck had she ended up on his lap in the first place? Her arms were around his neck; his head was thrown back against the headboard, and his hand...

  His left hand was beneath the jersey she wore, his fingers wicked and assured against her skin. Damn him—how many nights had she lay awake missing this very type of feeling?

  Too many to count. But she’d never expected to feel the answering hunger again. She covered his hand, holding his fingers in place. Her skin burned beneath his. “What are you doing?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

  “Some things are.” She tried not to shift against him too much. “I think I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

  “My little coward. One day you’re going to run right into a wall. And then you’ll have nowhere else to go.” He tangled his free hand in her hair and tilted her head back. Jules swallowed. When had she felt so achingly vulnerable with a man? His eyes burned when he looked at her.

  “I’m not a coward. I’m just prudent.” She was scared. Terrified, shivering. Aroused. She was a doctor; she knew what she felt was normal and natural. Physiological response to physical stimuli. Of course, it was normal. They were both healthy, unattached adults who were free to engage in whatever sexual behaviors they wanted. However they wanted. No one would know. And no one would judge.

  If she wanted to take this further, she could. Only the two of them would ever know.

  “Julia, you have about three seconds to hit me, or move away, or something. Anything.”

  The choice was hers. Why was it so hard to make it? This was Malachi. He might get under her skin, might drive her absolutely crazy with his irritating arrogant ways. But it was Malachi, and he’d never hurt her. He might steamroll right over her, but she knew the truth about him. He was one of the good guys.

  What would it be like to just enjoy him for a little while?

  Jules leaned down and for the first time, she kissed him.

  ***

  Malachi couldn’t believe it. He’d thought she’d slap him, slug him, or just push him away. He hadn’t expected her to cling, and to kiss him with more passion than he’d ever have expected. He pulled her closer, reveling in the feel of her body pressing against his. Julia Bellows might be too damned skinny, but she had curves that were definitely female. His hand slipped beneath her shirt and traced her spine. She wasn’t wearing a bra—he’d learned that earlier. And now he took full advantage of that.

  She pulled away, dragging in a deep breath.

  “Let me take this off.” He didn’t know if his words were pleading or not, but it sure felt like he’d beg at any minute. Nothing mattered to him more in that moment than getting that jersey over her head. He felt like a teenage boy with his first girl. She hesitated, then nodded, giving him silent consent. He pulled the jersey over her shoulders and tossed it aside. She sat before him and he could just make out the shape of her in the dim light from the cell phone he’d yet to shut off. Julia was beautiful, and he wished the damned power would come back on so he could see her more fully.

  Still, what he couldn’t see he could always feel…

  He touched her gently, knowing she’d probably not been this close to another man since the death of her husband. That humbled him, because he’d seen firsthand those videos, seen the love she had felt for that other man. And he’d had no difficulty seeing the love Rick had felt for her.

  For a minute he felt guilty because he didn’t love her and she didn’t love him. He cared about her, probably more than he had any woman in years. But he didn’t love her, and he knew that. And he seriously doubted she had any feelings for him beyond the physical. And irritation.

  Maybe that was what they both needed right then?

  There was a connection between them, and had been from the moment they’d woken tangled together in that North St. Louis basement. Maybe this was just the culmination of that connection?

  Her hands were tugging at his own shirt, and he lifted them both until she was straddling him and he was sitting up, her clutched in his lap. The shirt went over his head, and then he had her pressed against his chest and was kissing her with all the fervor and pent up frustration he’d ever felt for the harridan in his arms. He flipped them both again, putting her beneath him. He kissed her and touched her, and her hands were just as frantic on his skin.

  It was over almost before it ever really got started, both of them apparently needing the fast, hard loving that they’d engaged in. When his heart was finally back to a somewhat normal human rhythm again he tucked her against his chest and covered them both with the blankets.

  The scent of strawberries and Julia surrounded him and her arms were around him.

  But he had no difficulty knowing when she withdrew from him emotionally. Regret filled him.

  “This
isn’t a bad thing.” He was the first to speak. “We’re healthy, unattached adults, with a lot in common. It’s not wrong to want to be together.”

  “It’s sex. Pure and simple.” So why did he hear hesitation in her words?

  “Hmm. Damned good sex, too.” The light beside the bed flickered on, the switch still engaged from where he’d tried it earlier. She looked beautiful, sexy…and hurt…in the dim glow. He pulled her over to straddle him. “Julia…”

  “Please, don’t call me that. Not now.”

  That pissed him off. Was she still thinking of her husband? Was that what this was about? “Jules. What are you thinking right now?”

  “That once again in my life everything I do happens at the wrong damned time. I don’t want a relationship right now. I’ve got other things I have to worry about right now. Like today, and Ruthie. That has to be the most important part of my life right now. And…and…I don’t want to care about a man again.” She shook her head, sending her hair brushing his shoulders.

  “I understand about Ruthie, and I get that she has to be your number one focus right now. But it’s not like I’ve mentioned anything permanent. We’re adults, we can have an affair if we want. And it will affect no one but us. How is that wrong?”

  ***

  It wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t wrong. Jules knew that. Despite feeling like a big idiot for making a stupid decision in a weak moment, she knew that what they had done wasn’t the end of the world.

  So why did she feel like it changed things between them, and probably not for the good?

  He looked so…well…so damned perfect there, with the blankets falling off his perfect muscled chest, his hair messed up from her fingers running through it, his skin still flushed from what they’d just done together. And she felt so…not perfect straddling him while she attempted to catch her breath. Everything about her was always screwed up. So confused, jumbled, a real mess.