MICAH (A California Dreamy Novel Book 3) Page 9

  “Let me know if you need a break,” she said.

  Crista didn’t do overnight surveillance, not with two small boys at home. She often took over daylight hours so he could catch up on some z’s, but it was a long roundtrip and not really plausible in this situation. In a few days, they probably wouldn’t have a choice. He would run out of juice and need to sleep in order to be any good. Their mother would watch the boys overnight and Crista could fill in for him while he slept.

  They needed to bring in fresh blood. They’d talked about it. Two new operatives. They were doing well enough now financially to make it happen. In fact, they’d been turning away business before Micah was injured and had already put out some feelers for possibilities. Getting shot had put all that on hold.

  It had been unexpected. Not because the situation wasn’t rife with danger. It had been and he had gone in prepared. He’d followed protocol, alerting the police, working with them to set up an offensive line, and had waited at the perimeter, ready to catch the seedy criminals involved in the human trafficking ring Micah had exposed.

  But it was a young girl who had come his way. Recently preyed upon and lured into the trade, she was traumatized and fighting for her freedom, running high on her survival instincts and little else. She had she taken one look at Micah and pulled the trigger. And he didn’t blame her.

  Rachel, aged sixteen, was back at home with her single mother and two little brothers. She was back at school and thinking about joining the track team. Running appealed to her on many levels, but mostly it was the wind in her face and hair that she loved, the sharp pinch in her lungs that reminded her that at the finish line breathing wouldn’t hurt so much. She was in therapy with weekly sessions and she met with a survivor group twice monthly. And Micah knew all this because he was mentoring her.

  She wasn’t the girl Felicity had recruited, right in front of his eyes, who she had approached on the street, talked up and wrapped in a comforting embrace, who she had offered food and safety to and then lured her to a sex home and the man who ran it. No, that girl had been saved at the cost of Felicity’s life. Saved before initiation.

  But Rachel was a girl like her.

  Would Emme understand his need to remain involved in such a heinous crime world?

  She wrote about female heroines who saved the day. What would she think about a man who rode in and blew away the bad guys?

  Instead of Friday date night, he joined ranks with the PD and swept through quiet suburban streets in response to online invitations and pulled girls and sometimes boys out of brothels and into their first breath of fresh air in months.

  He did it to give them a chance. He did it to offer them freedom, to restore dignity.

  Sometimes they went back to what they knew, to the place and the people who gave them food and clothing. Because what waited for them at home was a lot worse than what had found them on the streets.

  And that cut the deepest. Some children didn’t have a safe place to land.

  Would Emme understand the hold that had on his heart?

  Probably. He had witnessed her compassion, felt her softness. And knew both were genuine qualities. Maybe she would be able to accept that life on the fringes of their own, and maybe that possibility held strong allure for Micah. Emme was a woman who could understand what drove him.

  And that thought was scary. Not only because it was premature in the scope of their time together but in the exposure of his heart. Emme was right about that. No one was comfortable with vulnerability of that nature.

  “Hello?” Crista’s voice interrupted his thoughts and from the way the word was drawn out, he suspected it had taken a few tries to reclaim his attention.

  He shook his head and wondered at his preoccupations. He didn’t remember ever being so distracted, so unnerved. And it’d been like that from the moment he’d first seen Emme.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m here.”

  “You checked out.” The accusation was given in good sport. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I don’t want to release responsibility for Emme.” And he didn’t want to put anymore thought into why.

  There was a pause and then Crista asked, “Not because you don’t trust me?”

  “Of course not.”

  In the silence that followed he could hear the wheels turning in Crista’s head. “You are personally involved.”

  “Getting there,” he admitted. “Zero to sixty.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “That was fast. Are you losing objectivity?”

  “Probably.”

  “So this is where I tell you you’re off the case.”

  That was their agreement. In order to remain true to the case, personal feelings and the person exhibiting them were excised. “Except I’m not leaving.”

  “Micah,” Crista began and he heard a firmness enter her voice. “If you can’t do the job—”

  “I can do the job.”

  She snorted. “Who am I talking to right now? The operative or the operator?”

  He had to chuckle at that. Crista was doing exactly as they had planned out in such an event. Still, ‘operator’?

  “I’m not working her,” he said. “I mean, if anyone is doing the chasing—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she cut him off, keeping to the script. “It must be hard, warding off an enticing little package like Emme Montgomery.”

  “She is enticing,” he agreed. An emotional and physical attraction that was gaining momentum. “But I haven’t lost my mind.”

  “Yet,” she said. “We need more manpower. Really, Micah, we have to hire a few good men or women.”

  “As soon as I get back,” he promised.

  She blew out a heavy breath in which he heard both frustration and capitulation.

  “Mom and dad extended their stay in Florida,” she said. “The soonest I can get up there is next week.”

  Disney World and a drive along the coast. Their parents were on vacation.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “By then you’ll be laid.”

  “Probably.” Every one of his hormones were jumping at the thought. “But I can’t get any closer to her than that, and in terms of watching over her, it can’t be beat.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, brother.” Crista’s tone was anything but pleased. “Keep her safe and yourself, too.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He ended the call and let the silence of the house settle around him. And shifted uncomfortably. Something was off. It was more than his growing feelings for Emme. Micah had an inner tuning fork with a sensitive trigger. Sight, sound, smell, even something as small and insubstantial as a drop in temperature by degrees pulled a response from him. So he stepped deeper into the shadow beside the window and peered through the dark at Emme’s back yard. The wind stirred and branches scratched against each other. Leaves broke loose and drifted to the ground. The light in an upstairs bedroom snapped on and illuminated a portion of the deck. He let his gaze dwell on the landscape. Nothing seemed out of place. He stood for another long moment and considered the wide expanse of the yard, the privacy hedge that could be hiding something or someone, the thick trees at the back border that rolled slowly uphill and became part of the Sierra Nevada’s. Nothing. No movement. No flash of color that didn’t belong. Not the wafting smoke of a cigarette or the hushed thud of feet on the plush grass.

  He flexed his shoulders and stepped away from the window.

  Something was off.

  He drew a breath. And it was there, in the air that filled his lungs—dense and tainted with something more. It teased his mind.

  Cigarettes. He smelled them. Not the pungent scent of an active smoker, but the residue that clung to clothes and skin and hair and sloughed off gradually in the places visited after a smoke.

  In his rental. On the upholstery in his living room. He lowered his head toward the curtains at the window. Old, musty, but definitely cigarette smoke. It hadn’t been here yesterday or even e
arlier that day. He would have noticed it.

  Someone had entered his rental. Had stood where he was now standing. Had looked, as he did now, at Emme’s rental next door.

  Who ? And Why? And had the same someone also entered Emme’s rental? Was is possible he was still there?

  He didn’t wait to flesh that out. Looking for further evidence of trespass in his home could wait.

  He slid his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and strode through the house and out the back door. He didn’t feel the weight of prying eyes. There was no heaviness in the air that he often detected when another person was nearby.

  The walk across their yards was swift. The old wooden planks on the back deck protested his weight with a loud creak. He called her name as he knocked.

  “It’s Micah, Emme,” he persisted when she didn’t answer right away. “Open up.”

  He waited a reasonable amount of time considering he was worried. At least a full minute. And then he tested the door knob. Locked. He brought the heel of his hand down hard on the brass knob, at a ninety degree angle, and heard the tumbler fall. The ease of entry gave his stomach a lurch. He crossed the threshold and was enveloped in the warmth of the kitchen. He noticed that Emme had preheated the oven and that her groceries had been put away, except for a package of chicken breasts. She was following his advice and cooking them so they would be ready for salads.

  She had cleared the debris from the table—all the evidence of convenience food—and her laptop sat there, open and tempting him.

  He heard muffled noise from the floor above him. Nothing alarming. Soft footfalls in the bedroom.

  Micah stepped closer to the table and to Emme’s computer. He didn’t read the words. There was no time for that and, despite catching a glimpse of her story earlier that evening, breaching her privacy at that level didn’t sit well with him. He glanced at the task bar at the bottom of the page. Forty-seven pages, twelve thousand, four-hundred-fifty-five words. Emme was writing a book. He pressed the up-arrow button and watched the pages fly by, occasionally caught a chapter heading or a highlighted section which seemed to be notes Emme had written to herself about plot or character. She’d been writing all day. A book. Just as she’d said.

  He stepped into the shadowed hall and up the narrow staircase, listening for further movement. Nothing.

  Emme was probably changing. And the thought made his throat tighten so he immediately thought of flannel pajamas—head to toe. Yeah, the footie, front zipper kind of pjs that were cute but did nothing for sexy.

  Too bad she didn’t seem the type. A body like hers, all curves, soft dips and generous swells, Emme probably wore something silky that clung in all the right places.

  He tried to clear the sex from his voice, but it came out scratchy and quiet, like he was telling a secret.

  “Emme?” He waited, perched at the top of the stairs. But there was no reply.

  There were three doors to choose from. One smaller and framed by the other two—a bathroom for sure. The other two were closed and so he listened for movement. It came quickly and was a burst of sound rather than the hushed fall of steps on carpeting. Some tangled emission that was both a gasp and a shriek.

  Micah threw open the door closest to him in time to watch Emme, clad only in red cotton bikini underwear and nothing else, teetering in the center of the room in a pose that looked similar to some of the yoga he’d seen and done.

  “What the hell?”

  Startled out if the pose, Emme nearly fell as she yelped and spun around.

  “Damnit! You scared me!” Her chest lifted quickly as she drew breath. A spectacular chest. Her heavy breasts the palest shade of cream. Her nipples large and a deep, dusty rose.

  “What were you doing?”

  She clutched the end of the bed spread and lifted it to cover herself. “What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “And how did you get in here?”

  “I broke the lock.”

  “What?”

  He felt the heaviness of his frown as he looked at her. He searched for words that wouldn’t alarm her, fought off the disappointment he felt when Emme covered herself, and settled for the truth.

  “Someone broke into my place. I was worried—” he lifted his hands and gestured toward her. “You’re alone over here and I didn’t know what you’d walked into.” He really wanted to get closer to her so he took a deliberate step backwards. “And don’t get on your high horse about all that Lara Croft stuff. I know you’re a strong woman but walking in on a home invasion is not safe.”

  “Of course not,” she agreed. Her voice was steady but her breathing was not. She inhaled deeply and the grip on her modesty loosened. “I’m not stupid.” And then she lifted a hand to push a strand of pal blond hair behind an ear and the bed spread shifted and showed him the full globe of her left breast. A pulse beat relentlessly at the base of his dick. “Your place was broken into?”

  He nodded. “While we were out.”

  “What did they take?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t stop to look.” He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans—it was that or rip the blanket off her—and didn’t care that it increased the snug fit over his junk or that she would have no problem realizing her effect on him. And she noticed. Her cheeks flushed and her tongue cruised across her bottom lip. And just that quick he decided, Fuck it, and closed the distance between them.

  Damn the woman had him in knots.

  “This has got to go.” He pulled the blanket from her fingers. She didn’t fight him. She tipped her head back and sought his gaze but he had a hell of a time lifting his eyes from her breasts. “You are beautiful.”

  There was a hushed worship in his tone.

  Pale, heavy breasts, rosy nipples and no evidence that the sun had ever touched her there. He slid his hands down her arms, cupped her hips, and pulled her up and flush against his body. Her softness yielded to his strength. Her legs shifted, opening just a little, but it was enough. He nudged her with a knee and lowered his hands until he cupped her ass and could spread her cheeks a little. That, right there. His cock nestled into the warmth of her cradle, his shaft pressing against her clit. Even through the layers of their clothing it was hot, intense. He sensed that avalanche of reason begin its descent. Logic, protests, even integrity became slippery slopes.

  Her lips parted and her hands settled on his arms. Her eyes glittered with heat.

  “Damn that feels good,” she said. “You feel good, Micah.”

  His hands flexed on her cheeks and she moved her hips, stroking him.

  “You have no idea how hard this is going to be.”

  He wanted to suck her nipples, rip her panties off and sink into her.

  “Oh, I think I do.” And she moved again, more insistent.

  “No, sweetheart,” he began. His voice was frayed by want. Every muscle cramped. Denial raged in his blood. “It isn’t going to be like that.”

  “It can be any way you want, Micah.”

  And with that she reached toward him, her fingers digging into his biceps. Warm, scented spice rose in the air between them. Her arousal. He inhaled deeply and felt the back of his throat dry with the need to taste her. Her mouth opened over his neck. She licked and then she came back with her teeth, a gentle scraping that made his dick jump. Damn, how he wanted her mouth on him. There. Emme on her knees in front of him. The image was deeply erotic, weakened his knees and his will.

  He would love to drape her in a pearl necklace or look into her eyes as she pulled from him every last drop of his seed and swallowed.

  “Micah?” she breathed against his skin. He liked that, too. The simple intimacy of her breath. He hadn’t kissed her yet but she was already whispering promises into his ear.

  “Sorry, Emme.”

  He hated himself for it. Almost as much as he would hate himself if he took what she offered. He stepped back and her hands loosened and fell to her sides.

  “Sorry?” sh
e repeated, her voice thick with passion.

  “Yeah. I’m an ass. I started this. I know that.” He took another step backward. He couldn’t stop his gaze from flowing over her, from the top of her head to her painted toes, lingering on her breasts, on the tiny triangle of red lace that hid secrets he would die to explore. He turned and left the room. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breathe. Two. And when the haze cleared enough for him to see, he walked quickly from room to room, securing the house. He retraced his steps, downstairs, into the kitchen, and still Emme remained in the bedroom—doing what?

  He stopped at the back door and fitted the tumbler back into place in the door knob—a flimsy line of defense that would soon be replaced if he had anything to say about it, and he’d make damn sure he did. He was pulling the door shut behind him when he heard Emme’s voice, throaty, a gasp that drew into a long, shuddering moan, and he knew. She had finished what he’d started.

  Chapter Nine

  The water was a new kind of cold, this high up in the mountains, deep into fall, and in an old rental with a temperamental water heater. But all that worked in his favor. Ninety seconds under the shower spray and his body no longer vibrated with sexual need. Logical thought, along with recriminations, returned like a blast of sound from a radio.

  Everything about Emme threatened the balance he tried to maintain in his personal life. From her sunny, hopeful greetings to the electrifying attraction she ignited in him. Her courage to chase her dreams, her level of commitment and determination were uncommon and admirable character traits. Micah liked Emme. Hell, like didn’t half cover it. Like was apathetic and safe. He was about to fall over that emotional edge where a man would either soar or plummet, and Emme had driven him there faster than any other woman ever had.