Tough Customer

CHAPTER 27

SKI KNEW THAT IF HE'D RETURNED TO THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE immediately following Oren Starks's death, he would have been beset by reporters and other deputies, all salivating to know the grisly details. He needed some downtime before returning to the fray, so he was making calls from his kitchen table.

Besides, he could better handle outstanding matters here, where he wouldn't be constantly interrupted. He had his cell phone, a carafe of strong coffee, and a checklist of people to call. First was Sheriff Drummond, who expressed appropriate concern over the wasted life of Oren Starks, then commended Ski on his capture.

"It was a coordinated effort, sir."

The sheriff dismissed his humility, then asked about Caroline and Berry, and after Ski had assured him that they were as well as could be expected, the sheriff stunned Ski by telling him that he'd decided not to run for reelection.

"It's time I passed the baton." He paused, then added, "I'd be pleased to endorse you as my successor. There'd be nobody better. And I don't say that just because you're the hero of the moment."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"You've earned it. Think about it. We'll talk it over soon."

Ski was flattered and excited, but he couldn't indulge in thoughts about the future when duties in the present were so pressing. Doggedly he continued down his list, next calling the nursing home where Oren Starks's mother was a patient. The administrator reminded him of the extent of her illness. "She's unresponsive, Deputy Nyland."

"I understand, ma'am. I just thought she should be officially notified of her son's demise."

Since no power of attorney documents had been found among Starks's papers in his Houston house, and his mother was incapable of making decisions regarding his interment, Ski made arrangements with a funeral home in Merritt.

Last, he called the Houston detective Rodney Allen and gave him a rundown of the capture. "He had very little chance of surviving the head wound. He died early this morning, in distress, still wishing Ms. Malone dead."

"Be glad you got him."

"I am."

Allen asked for the paperwork necessary to close his case on Sally Buckland's murder, and Ski promised to get it to him as soon as he'd signed off on it.

After a slight pause, the detective said, "I checked out Hanley's record."

"He's a good man to have on your side."

"If you say so."

"I say so." Before more could be said, Ski disconnected. And just then someone knocked on his back door.

Berry looked at him through the panes of glass that formed the top half of the door, hoping to gauge his reaction to her unannounced visit. But before she could get a good read on it, he opened the door. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, the tail out. He was barefoot.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He stood aside. She took the last step up and crossed the threshold into a kitchen that smelled like fresh coffee. She noticed the items on the table, including a legal tablet with scribbles and lines made in a firm, masculine hand. "You're working?"

"Just finished up making some official calls. How are you holding up?"

"Fine." Shortly after Ski had propelled her from Oren's ICU, the doctor had pronounced him dead. "Still a bit trembly."

"It was a bad scene."

"Yes."

He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, then removed them. He nodded toward the counter. "You want some coffee?"

"No, thanks."

"When you left the hospital, you said you were going home to sleep."

"I was. But when we got there, Mother said we all should eat. Dodge volunteered to go to the store and get things for brunch. I volunteered to come and extend you an invitation to join us." She took a breath, knowing she was going for broke but willing to take the risk. "But inviting you to brunch was just an excuse. The real reason I came is because I want you to hold me."

It took him only one wide step to reach her. He pulled her against him and wrapped his strong arms around her. And for the longest time, that was enough, just being held. Then he tipped her chin up and kissed her with surprising gentleness. When he pulled away, he searched her eyes as though asking permission and must have seen in her gaze what he was looking for.

Dipping his head, he rubbed his lips against hers, then their open mouths fused hungrily. She slid her arms beneath his. Her hands met at his spine and held him fast against her. They shifted the angle of their heads several times but didn't break the kiss until he pulled away and pressed his lips against her neck just beneath her ear.

"Can we continue this with our clothes off?"

She made a humming sound that he took for a yes. Reaching for her hand, he led her from the kitchen, through the house, and into a spacious bedroom. She was impressed that the bed was made, but it wasn't for long. He flung back the covers, then returned to her and immediately began undoing the buttons on her blouse. He unclasped the front fastener of her bra and pushed aside the cups. He took her breasts in his hands as he kissed her again.

Lips, tongue, fingertips. They made her breathless, helpless, until she didn't even realize that the small sounds filling the quiet room were coming from her own throat. He continued caressing her with his mouth while his hands reached beneath her skirt. One splayed over her ass, the other slid into the front of her panties.

She whimpered, because he knew exactly what to do and how to do it well. The slip-slidey play of his fingertips soon had her gasping. "Stop. Ski. Stop."

"No," he murmured, his lips moving against her nipple.

It felt too good. The pressure of his fingers, the barely-there caress of his thumb. She began rocking against his hand, riding it. Urged on by his fervently whispered encouragement, she let go of all control and allowed the pleasure to surge through her. Tidal waves of it battered her until she was limp and clinging to him.

He eased her back onto the bed and smoothed the hair off her face. He kissed her lips softly, then removed each article of her clothing. Never breaking eye contact, he stood at the end of the bed and peeled off his T-shirt. He unbuttoned his jeans with a practiced hand, then pushed them down and stepped out of them.

He'd been wearing nothing underneath them, and that incredibly sexy sight caused a purling sensation deep inside her. He crawled over her until he was levered above her, bracing himself on stiff arms. His frank study of her body made her feel hot with shyness, but she wanted to touch him, so she did. His eyes closed and his breath became rough and loud, then hissed through his teeth when her thumb glanced the most sensitive spot and came away damp.

When he pressed inside her, she bit her lower lip to keep her moan fractionally contained. His arms relaxed. She welcomed his weight all along her body. Instinctually she pulled her knees back to take more of him, and he responded not only with his body but with a rumbled litany of vulgarities--the blunt, elemental language of a man totally absorbed in the moment, in mating.

Ski was on his back, holding Berry close. They lay with legs entwined. He was relaxed, but his body continued to buzz with sensations that occasionally sparked and sizzled along his nerve endings. No wonder. The object of his lust was naked, in his bed, and she was incredible.

"I love that you kissed me."

Her husky voice sent a dart of renewed desire through him. He turned his head to look at her.

"During it, I mean. That was very nice. Sexy, absolutely. But also"--she lifted her face to look at him--"awfully sweet. Special."

It had been meaningful to him, too. Never before had he kissed a woman, really deeply kissed her, while actually fucking her. Berry probably wouldn't believe him if he told her that. It was too soon to be telling her things like that. For that matter, it was too soon to be feeling things like that for a woman he'd met only four days ago. But that's how it was.

Looking at her now, he realized how goddamn great it would be to wake up every morning for the rest of his life and see her face on the other pillow. Thinking about it gave him an ache deep in his gut. Felt like yearning.

"Tell me," she said, "did you learn that wicked language in the Army?"

"Oh hell," he groaned. "What'd I say?"

"You don't remember?"

"I was preoccupied. If my language was offensive, I apologize."

She gave him a naughty smile. "I kinda liked it."

"Hmm?"

"Hmm."

They kissed lazily. Eventually she was the one to pull back. "Did you also get your scar from the Army?"

He looked down at the raised, jagged line along his thigh. Well-trained surgeons had tried to clean it up, make it less unsightly, but it still looked like his flesh had been pried open with a rusty, old-fashioned can opener and then sutured with barbed wire. "I should have warned you."

"Are you all right talking about it?"

He rubbed her earlobe between his fingers. It was incredibly soft. "Afghanistan. We'd been ordered to police, render aid where needed, not to engage the enemy. The Taliban didn't get the memo, I guess. My unit went into the house of a guy who'd been acting as our interpreter. We went there to discuss security at the local school.

"It was a trap. He was Taliban, and those guys are fighting to win. Or fighting for us to lose. Either way, it was a bloodbath. We killed all of them. Two women. One kid who looked about thirteen. I and one other guy were the only two of our unit to survive. Last I heard of him, he's still messed up psychologically." His eyes slid from his study of her earlobe to her soft gaze. "I got lucky."

"Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes it reminds me it's there. Not too often." He smiled crookedly. "Rubbing it helps."

"How about kissing it?"

And without waiting for a reply, she moved down. She ran her fingertip delicately along the scar that ran from knee to groin, then followed that same course with her lips, touching it with feather-light kisses. He placed his hand on the back of her head, not in the least bit forcefully. Lightly. Just to acknowledge how damn good it felt, how sweet it was of her not to be repelled.

Then she kissed his penis, took the tip of it into her mouth, and every cell in his body jangled. "Christ." He took a handful of hair and pulled her up. "Stop, Berry." He kept tugging on her hair until they were once more face-to-face. Hers wore an uncertain expression. She looked a bit wounded.

He ran his thumb across her lips. "I want you to, God knows. It felt amazing, and five minutes from now I'll probably be weeping because I stopped you. But you've gotta know some things."

"What things?"

"I'm not going anywhere from here."

She shook her head in confusion. "What?"

"From Merritt. I'm here to stay. People wonder why I settled here. It's rumored that I lack ambition, that I'm wasting myself in a backwater place. Maybe all that's true to some degree. But the fundamental truth is that, when I left the Army, I was sick to death of seeing blood and watching people die, and die in ugly ways. I wanted to be a cop, I've wanted that all my life, but I didn't want the job in a big city, where violence is an everyday event."

"Violence can occur anywhere. Case in point," she said of Starks.

"Yeah, but not on a daily basis. The last few days excluded, my main job here is keeping law and order. I do some good. Sure, I haul the lawbreakers to jail. I've busted up meth houses, and sometimes bloody wounds come out of those raids. But I haven't had to kill a woman before she could kill me. I haven't had to blow away a boy who was too young to shave."

"But that was--"

"War. On the other side of the world. I get it. But read the papers, Berry. Listen to the news. I want to be where there's less chance of me having to kill somebody. I might--

might--consider running for sheriff when Drummond retires, but that's as high as I'll go. I don't want you to get in too deep, only to find out that I'm not who you thought I was, or who you'd wish me to be."

She smiled, but not particularly with humor. "It's funny."

"Somehow I don't think so."

"No, it is. Dodge said practically the same thing to me last night."

"Jesus, I'm starting to sound like Dodge?"

She turned toward him and nestled closer. Speaking in a near whisper, she said, "He and Mother slept together last night."

"Not for the first time, I think."

"He's my father."

"How long have you known?"

She looked at him with surprise. "You knew?"

"Guessed."

"How?"

"The way he looked at her, at you, didn't match the rest of him. Everyone else on the planet he barely abides. He cares for the two of you, and it shows. Wasn't too hard to figure out why."

She related the story that Dodge had told her the night before.

When she finished, she said, "I'm sad for him. He made a terrible mistake, but he's been paying for it for thirty years. That's an awfully long penance for one sin. I'm sad for Mother, too. He was the love of her life. She's lived without him."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Dodge left. Caroline let him go. Do you forgive them for those choices?"

"Yes. They were both right, and both wrong."

"Hmm."

She propped herself up on her elbow so that she was looking down into his face. "That was a very eloquent hmm. What?"

"You and Dodge are a lot alike."

"We're both flat-chested."

He grinned but didn't let her distract him from his point. "That wasn't what I was thinking."

"Were you thinking that he and I are manipulative? That I followed his method of trying to get ahead professionally unethically and at all costs?"

"What I was going to say," he said with exaggerated patience, "is that you two are willing to forgive everyone but yourselves."

She stared deeply into his eyes, her brow furrowed. "Possibly. Because I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for what Oren did to those people."

"You're not to blame for his meltdown. When someone goes postal, once his background and behavior are analyzed, the only thing that's surprising is that he didn't flip out sooner. What happened wasn't your fault."

"I appreciate your saying so."

"It's not just pillow talk, Berry. I mean it. The issue at Delray, your self-incrimination exceeds the crime. What's the company policy on retaining an employee's work when that employee leaves before a project is finished?"

"That employee's input stays with Delray," she answered quietly.

"When Sally left, did she take her work?"

"I see your point," she said with some asperity, "but still, what I did didn't feel right. My motives certainly weren't."

"Okay, maybe your ambition went into overdrive. You cheated a bit. Took some unethical shortcuts. Just as Dodge said, drop it. Let it go. If you don't it'll eat you alive."

"I don't know how to forgive myself."

"It's an acquired skill."

Her focus sharpened. "Is it?"

"Yes. You have to practice it every day."

She touched his cheek. "Is this the voice of experience speaking?"

Looking directly into her eyes, he said, "I convinced the guys in my unit that we could trust our interpreter."

Understanding the implications, she laid her head on his chest and hugged him close. He went one further and pulled her on top of him until they were belly to belly. She lay perfectly still while he strummed his fingers along her spine. He stroked her ass and as far as he could reach down the backs of her thighs. Because she lay so still, he thought she might have fallen asleep. And that was okay. He would have lain with her like that for hours, days, but eventually she stirred and moaned with pleasure, and the tenor of his caresses changed.

"That night at the lake house," he whispered as he worked his hand between their bodies and cupped her sex. "I caught a flash of this."

"I thought you might have."

"I did. And I wanted it. I've wanted it every breathing moment since." He stroked her, felt her quick, hot breaths inside his mouth. "And now..."

"Ski ...," she gasped.

"I want you."