Читать книгу The Men In Uniform Collection - Barbara McMahon - Страница 30

CHRISTIE STOPPED CRYING. Not because she didn’t miss Nate, not because she’d never felt more alone in her whole life, but because she just couldn’t. Her eyes couldn’t weep, her throat couldn’t breathe, her soul couldn’t hold up, not for another second. There was nothing left in her, just numbness. A person, she supposed, could only be so scared for so long before everything shut down. It was better this way. Easier. If she just stayed in the bathtub for the rest of her life, she’d be fine. Pruney, but fine.

As for Boone, well, she appreciated that he was here. She wished she could believe that he would fix everything, but that was gone, too. Sure, he’d do what he could, but it was useless. Hopeless. Damn, if she wasn’t too tired to even think about that.

She reached over and turned on the Whirlpool jets, then she leaned back so her neck was on the pillow. If she closed her eyes, maybe she could think about the water. Just the water.

It worked for a few minutes, but then she opened her eyes. She gave a start when she saw Boone right next to the tub. His legs were bare, and as her gaze moved up his body, she saw he’d taken his clothes off. He had a towel around his waist, but he was naked, all right.

“Scoot up,” he said.

She heard him, but she was too confused to obey. What, all of a sudden it wasn’t about the job? “What’s going on?”

“Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

She looked up even farther, until she met his eyes. He didn’t look sneaky and he didn’t leer. But she still wasn’t sure.

“It’s all right,” he said.

She moved until her chest hit her knees. Boone dropped the towel and stepped carefully into the tub behind her, his feet touching her hips. She got as small as she could, feeling her heartbeat against her kneecaps as she waited for him to sit. He grunted as he stretched his legs on either side of her. He had to bend his knees a bit, as he was too tall, even though the tub was way oversized. Then he gave a great sigh, which she knew had to be because of the jets. His hands gripped her shoulders and he pulled her back, against his chest.

“Boone?”

“Yeah?”

“Care to share now? About what you’re doing.”

“Getting in the tub.”

“I know that part. Why?”

“Because you’re scared.”

“I’ve been taking baths for a long time all by myself. Haven’t freaked out yet,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the banked tears in her voice.

“You want me to get out?”

She put her hands on his knees. “No.”

“Okay, then. Lean back and relax.”

She did. Her head fell back to the crook of his neck, her back was cushioned by his chest and she felt surrounded by strength. The thick cock lying against her tailbone was something to think about later.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when this guy is toast?” he asked.

“Do we have to talk about him?”

“Yeah, I think we do. But it’s okay,” he said, as his arms wrapped around her, just above her breasts.

She felt tiny, even though she wasn’t. She was five-seven, and she’d never been with any man who made her feel this delicate. Oddly, it didn’t make her feel helpless. Just, small.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear.

Christie quivered, and not from fear. He had her. He had her. She closed her eyes, cocooned in this man, encircled by heat and flesh and wet, and she wasn’t just small. She was…safe.

Her throat clenched, and it was sheer will that kept her from crying all over again. It seemed impossible that only a moment ago, she’d lost all hope, and now, with his arms, and his words, and his body, he’d changed everything.

“You okay?”

She sniffed. Nodded.

“So what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”

“Go to Disneyland?”

“Christie.”

She smiled. He could do stern schoolmarm so well. “Get a new bed.”

He chuckled and she felt it all the way down her back. “That’s good. What else?”

“Get a new job, maybe? Remind my friends that I’m still alive. Take Milo to the park.”

“Okay. Keep those things in mind. Keep them as close as you can. What we’re going to do tonight, is get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll start again. We’ll train in the morning. In the afternoon—”

“Hold it. Get some rest? I hope that means you plan to sleep with me here in this bathtub.”

“Uh, no. But tell you what. I’ll make us up a bed in the living room. I’ll be right there, right next to you. Me and Milo. No one’s getting past the two of us.”

“Well, we can try.”

“You’ll sleep, trust me. Now,” he said, releasing her from his gentle hold, “lean forward.”

She did, not even questioning his motive. She curled her arms around her legs, leaned her cheek on her knee and waited.

His hands, warmed in the water, went to her shoulders. He began a massage that hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. The wonderful won hands down.

With the patience of a saint, he worked on her neck, her shoulders, even her scalp. She hadn’t moaned so much since the last time she’d had great sex, and that was a long, long time ago.

He didn’t do anything else. It wasn’t a prelude, it wasn’t about loosening her up. The thing was, they both knew he could have. That she would have welcomed a sexual touch, but that wasn’t what he gave her. This was better. It was what she’d wanted even when she hadn’t known how to ask.

He had her add hot water three times. Her fingers and toes looked like dried figs, but she never wanted him to stop. Those large hands, those calloused fingers, were so gentle, so amazing, she felt like a puddle of goo.

“Christie?”

“Yeah?”

“I think we’d better get out now. I’m starting to develop gills.”

She smiled. Turned off the jets and lifted the plug. Her moments of peace were over. Perhaps some of these feelings would linger. If he slept close enough. If she could still feel him next to her.

Bracing his hands on the edge of the tub, Boone got out first. He got one of her towels from the rack, the big Egyptian cotton bathsheet and instead of drying himself off, he held it out for her.

All she could think as she stood, as he wrapped her in warm terrycloth, was that this might have been the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her. She wasn’t used to kind men. Not good-looking kind men. That seemed to be a contradiction in terms.

The only thing she was sure of was that even though she knew the blood was still all over her bed, that the bastard had gotten into her home again, and that it wasn’t over, not by a long shot, she felt relaxed. For that, the man deserved a medal.

He’d gotten himself a towel, and was using it like sandpaper. His gun, which had been right by the tub the entire time, was in his hand even before he put on his pants.

She watched the muscles ripple in his broad back, the way his bare toes tried to grip the white carpet. He turned then, and she saw that somewhere between the tub and the towel, he’d gotten hard. It was a shock to see something so sexual, to realize that he’d ignored everything but her comfort, her needs.

She walked to him, tightening her towel around her chest. When she stood directly behind him, he stopped, dead still, but he said nothing. He was bent slightly forward, his free hand flexed by his side.

Christie touched his back. His skin rippled and he sucked in a sharp breath, waiting. The only other sound was the echo of her own heart pounding in her ears. She was nervous, but sure. She wanted so badly to give him back something as intimate and generous as what he’d given to her.

With her left hand still on his back, she touched his side, being as calm and slow-moving as if she were gentling a feral cat. Her fingers slipped over the sharp curve of his hipbone, then through hair that was soft and still damp.

She found him harder now, and his gasp sharper when she touched him. First with one finger, then with two, running up his length. She curved her palm over the smooth corona—it was moist, but not from the bathwater.

Boone twitched again—his cock, and then his whole body. She could feel his tension with her left hand, his heat with her right. She didn’t want to tease. She curved her hand around him and moved up and down his length, listening to his breath, feeling him in a way she’d never felt another.

It didn’t take long. He’d been ready for a long time, sublimating as he tended to her fears. Now it was all focused on him, only she found herself wanting more. Selfish, she knew, but she wanted to kiss him.

She didn’t. She just moved her hand faster, pumping his flesh, waiting until every muscle in his body tensed, his head jerked back, his legs shook.

His hand went to her wrist, stilling her.

“It’s all right,” she whispered at the shell of his ear. “I’ve got you.”

He let go.

When he came, it was quiet. Banked so tightly, she wondered if it physically hurt him. She continued to move her hand, but far more gently now. Releasing him wasn’t easy. She walked to the second sink, washed her hands then dampened a washcloth. She handed it to him. He didn’t say anything, or even look at her.

Feeling suddenly shy, she turned her back to him while she dressed. It felt weird to put on her jeans, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

When she turned around again, he was in everything but his shoes. “Boone?”

Finally, he looked at her. Straight on. With his elegant green eyes and his dark, thick lashes. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Thanks.”

He breathed in and out, his nostrils flaring slightly. Then he gave her that half smile of his. “We’re a team.”

She smiled back. “You bet.”

“I’m gonna do another quick check of the house. You want to come, or stay in here?”

“Come.”

“Let’s lock and load.”

HE WATCHED THEM,WISHINGhe could move the cameras so he could see her better. She was losing it. The blood had been a stroke of genius. And when he killed Boone in front of her eyes? That would be the crowning moment of his plan. She’d be his, then. And she’d do exactly as she was told.

THEY MOVED THE MATTRESS FROM the guest bed to the floor of the living room. Christie never left his side. When he went to the kitchen, there she was. When he ran his equipment around the front door, she stood patiently waiting, even though he knew she had to be exhausted. The physiological comedown from the shock of finding the blood would drain her of energy. Add to that the bath and the massage, and she should be out cold.

He was counting on that. He needed to look at his video, and he didn’t want to wait until morning. If there were any chance of identifying this asshole, he wanted it now.

He had to keep pulling himself back to the job, ignoring what had happened in the bathroom. It didn’t mean anything. She’d given him comfort, just as he’d given that to her. And it was done. Over.

The house checked out, although Boone didn’t have the same confidence in his equipment after the break-in. He just kept things low and slow, and if the geek was watching, he wouldn’t see anything Boone didn’t want him to see.

Unless there was some kind of camera Boone couldn’t detect in the bathroom. But then, even if it did give him the major wiggins, if the geek had watched them in there, so much the better. It would inflame him to make a move, to make a mistake. Which was not something he was going to share with Christie.

She finished putting the covers on the mattress while he got out a flashlight and set it where she could find it easily in the dark. Everything was done. All that was left was bed.

Jesus, it had been unbelievable with just her hand. What would it be like to have it all? To take what he really wanted?

No, no. Hold it, soldier. He’d gone into that bathtub to give her what she needed. Safety. Comfort. Relaxation. It hadn’t been about sex. He hadn’t even touched her in any sensitive areas.

He wasn’t used to this. Where he traveled, the way he lived, there was no safety. Very little comfort. And relaxation usually came after a lot more alcohol than he cared to admit. But he was responsible for this woman. For keeping her alive and well.

She made it awfully tempting, though. Even with her skinny legs and her tiny little wrists, she got to him. It hurt, how badly he wanted to squash that bug of a geek who was after her. In order to do that, he had to keep his eye on the prize. He had to get her ready, make her an ally, not a liability. He had to incite the geek to rage, to make him come into the trap. And he had to make sure he was on task 24/7.

Unfortunately, the way to get the geek into position was going to seriously test Boone’s ability to stay focused.

“Hey, you okay?”

Boone blinked. Christie was standing by the bed, hands on her hips, hair all over the place. He smiled, but only for a second. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“You’re one weird dude, you know that?”

“It’s been mentioned.”

“So that’s it? We just go to sleep?”

“Best thing we can do,” he said as he stood up, to the dismay of Milo. “We need to be sharp. All in.”

“Well, for that, I’d need to have a month in Tahiti—is that on your agenda?”

“Sorry, wish I could help.”

She sighed. Looked down at her feet. “Ever slept in your boots, Boone?”

“More times than I can count.”

“I guess sneakers shouldn’t be a problem, huh?”

“I think you’ll be okay without them. Just leave them untied and ready to go.”

“Nah. If they keep me awake, I’ll reconsider.”

“Sounds good. Now climb in.”

She looked around her house, then at Milo. “Come on, boy. You get shotgun. Pardon the pun.”

Milo walked around the bed, delicately sidestepping the overhanging covers. He turned in two circles, then curled into a ball, watching Christie with clear, clever eyes.

Christie pushed back the covers and climbed in. She pulled them up her neck, but Boone could see her discomfort, even underneath the blankets. He didn’t blame her, but he hoped her exhaustion would take precedence over her fear. The only thing he could give her now was a body and a weapon at the ready. He slipped off his shoes, and he moved in next to her.

She faced Milo. Boone faced the front door. He could hear her breathing, could feel her tension. Milo licked some part of his body for longer than seemed necessary, and then, after a soft chuff, fell silent. Boone went through the scene again. Not the one in the bathroom. The one in her bedroom.

He went step-by-step through each move the geek would have taken to make it happen. He thought about where he’d put the camera and where he’d put the microphones. Boone knew without a doubt that there would be no fingerprints, no trace evidence at all. The fake blood was easy to make from common ingredients found in any supermarket. Even if the geek jerked off, which he probably had, he’d have been careful about that, too. No evidence. Nothing for the police.

But this asshole didn’t fear the police. He didn’t fear anything. Because he knew more than the cops. He was a spook, a ghost, someone who’d been into the tradecraft long enough to learn the tricks and the traps. But he was unstable, a stalker. Which probably meant he was an ex-spook.

How had he met Christie? At a party? A bar? She may have smiled at him once, in passing. Sometimes that’s all it took for a stalker to become obsessed. Or maybe it had been more. A date, several dates.

Nate had said she was picky, that she didn’t suffer fools. She’d probably dated the geek, didn’t like what she saw, and she’d kicked him to the curb.

Christie shifted, and he stopped breathing so he could listen. He had no idea how much time had passed since they’d laid down, but it was evidently long enough for her to find sleep. He closed his eyes for a moment, just feeling her body heat. They weren’t touching. The mattress was a king, which gave them some room. He wished it were a twin.

No, he didn’t. If they’d been forced together it would have made it much more difficult for him to climb out without waking her. He would wait until she had a chance to get into REM sleep, when it would be most difficult to wake her. That was approximately forty-five minutes.

As the minutes ticked by, it wasn’t the geek he thought about. Not the tape he was going to view. It was Christie’s hand. The feel of her skin. How her muscles had relaxed underneath his steady pressure. Her hair had been swept up with some kind of wooden pin, and he’d stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out exactly how it worked. It didn’t matter. the important thing was that he could see her neck so clearly. It was a lovely, slim neck. Long, delicate. Her shoulders were small, too. Such a small person.

Women in general knocked him out, but touching her had made him feel so goddamn protective. He’d never tell her that, though. She needed to feel strong. Powerful.

The geek wouldn’t get within ten feet of her, but still, she deserved to feel sure that she could take care of herself. That no man, no maniac, could take her against her will.

It would take a lot more training than he’d be able to give her. But he’d encourage her to continue once he was gone. To give herself that gift.

He listened again, her soft breath coming easily, steadily. It was still too soon. And she was too close.

Christ, why had he gotten into that tub with her? He’d thought it would help. That it would make things easier. He was a moron.

Somehow, he made it through until he felt sure she wouldn’t rouse. He got out of the bed as stealthily as if he were walking into enemy territory, and had a target painted on his back. Milo wasn’t impressed.

The two of them went into the bathroom, with a quick stop first to pick up his equipment bag. Once there, Boone sat on the toilet again, seat down, light dim. He pulled out a portable VCR that ran on batteries. Then he put the tape in.

The camera was motion-triggered. But the first motion on the tape wasn’t the geek. It was Christie. And she was in her bra and panties.

Boone fast-forwarded. The light went off, and the light stayed off, but that was okay, because the camera had infrared. It wouldn’t give Boone a clear picture of the man, but it would give him a lot of intel. How big, what build, what equipment, how he was dressed, how he got in. And out.

And, like magic, there he was.