Stormy Nights

STORMY NIGHTS The Heroes of Silver Springs 3 Tonya Ramagos EROTIC ROMANCE Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing...

Author: Ramagos Tonya

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STORMY NIGHTS The Heroes of Silver Springs 3

Tonya Ramagos

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. STORMY NIGHTS The Heroes of Silver Springs 3 Copyright © 2008 by Tonya Ramagos E-book ISBN: 1-60601-125-1 First E-book Publication: July 2008 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

DEDICATION To the struggling single mom doing her best to give her child the best. And many thanks to the men and women of public service who keep our cities safe in any number of disasters.

STORMY NIGHTS The Heroes of Silver Springs 3 Tonya Ramagos Copyright © 2008

Prologue Cambodian Jungle – Two years ago Chief Petty Officer Ryan Magee took a silent step on the catwalk and stopped. His sharp eyes penetrated the dark below him and saw only a pristinely clean concrete floor. A soft but definite click over the open frequency of his radio headset confirmed what he'd already figured out. So much for the hopes they would find truck loads of neatly packaged pure cocaine ready to smuggle out of the country. Chances were they wouldn't find a single opium plant or even a poppy seed. No doubt the bastard, Veng Kim Phay, had been tipped off. Dammit! "Looks like the place has been cleaned out, sir." P.J. Dugger spoke quietly over the radio despite the spreading belief through the team that they were in fact alone in the warehouse compound. Yeah, no shit the place had been cleaned out, Magee thought grimly. Phay, his goons and, oh yeah, all the drugs they intended to smuggle to their contact in the United States, had probably been long gone before the SEALs completed their final briefing on board the U.S.S. Seaport. And yes, Senator Lawrence Hampton's precocious and adventurous daughter—Magee drew a blank on her name—with her high-tech cell phone complete with a top notch Global Positioning System could certainly be thanked for that one. What kind of a woman—girl really because she was barely more than a

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teenager—went tracking through the jungle with no more than a cell phone and a hairbrush? But okay, at least she had the cell phone and enough sense to keep it hidden after she stumbled into Phay's compound and was taken hostage. Magee didn't want to know how or where she'd hidden the phone to prevent its discovery by Phay's men. Magee scowled as he remembered tonight's main objective. Neutralize the threat, capture and contain the drug lord and his cartel, rescue the hostage. A simple mission given that they knew exactly where to find Phay's cartel and, yes, even the hostage. Yet, so often it was the simplest of missions that turned into complete goat fucks. Just like this one. "The area is not yet secure," Lieutenant Commander Korbin Ziegler's quiet but certain voice reminded the team over the radio. "Things are not always as they seem, men." "No shit they aren't." Chase Spazetty's usually spastic voice took on an even more excited tone as he reported, "Commander, I've got another door up here. No. Make that a set of doors, sir. They're closed but it's my guess they open into another large room, maybe even another like this one." "Take it easy, Spazetty," Ziegler ordered. Every man on the squad knew full well the SEAL earned his nickname Spaz way back in BUD/s training not only because of his last name, but because of his eagerness to leap with little thought or consideration. His energetic actions were tolerated, however, because the man was a pit bull in the face of danger, an unmovable rock when the proverbial shit hit the fan. "Dugger, move in. McCormick, hang back. Cabelly, report." "All's clear here, sir. Got you and the boys in my sights. Do what you gotta do, sir. I'll just hang out here on the catwalk," Ensign John Cabelly answered in a singsong whisper. Then, true to form, he broke into a low impression of Right Said Fred for his radio audience. "Yeah, on the catwalk. On the catwalk, yeah. I do my little turn on the catwalk." "Cut it out, Cabelly," the CO chastised, but Magee could tell by the sound of his whisper that the man was smiling. "Yes, sir," Cabelly responded, instantly sober. "Just a little comic relief, sir." "Save it for the trip home, Ensign." "Yes, sir. Saving it, sir." "Magee, report."

Stormy Nights: The Heroes of Silver Springs 3

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"No sexy turns going on on my catwalk, sir, but… Shit!" Magee's grip on his M16 instinctively tightened as he scanned the area below once more. The warehouse compound wasn't bathed in a pitch-black darkness, but it was dammed close. Rather than attract possible attention with flashlights, the team decided to proceed in super caution stealth, using only the slivers of moonlight and the faint twinkling of stars from the night sky outside. Magee relied on those slivers now, his gaze raking the edge of his vantage point. Mere seconds earlier, he'd been able to spot the silhouettes of his squad. Now all he saw was empty grayness. "Hold up, sir. I've lost visual." "Affirmative." "We're at the door," Dugger reported in his neutral tone. High speculation ran amok through the teams on whether or not the man was even capable of emotion. "Awaiting further orders." "To enter or not to enter, that is the question," Spazetty piped in, always unable to resist a little play on Shakespeare. Or maybe his convulsive tendencies simply left him incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Magee would have banked on the latter. "Negative," Lieutenant Commander Ziegler answered, the word clipped and full of the calm authority his men so respected. "We wait for Magee to reposition. Got that, Magee?" "Copy that, Commander." Magee had already begun to move. He could see what was blocking his view of the team. A stack of seemingly endless crates lined the outside edge of the catwalk. Empty crates, if they followed suit with the other ones he'd passed further back. "I've got a line of shipping crates here. Too bad they aren't packed with baggies of our favorite white powder. I should regain visual as soon as I pass—" Something smacked behind him. It was a sound he couldn't easily identify. Was it some kind of animal, or maybe a part of the catwalk disengaging from its supports? Magee's first thought when he climbed onto this thing was how unstable it seemed in places. A person? Maybe the warehouse compound wasn't empty after all. Maybe somehow someone had managed to sneak up behind him. "I've got movement," he reported in a tone so hushed he barely heard it himself. Even as the words left his mouth, he raised the M16 half an inch higher as he turned to his left, sweeping with the barrel of the weapon and—

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"Fuck!" The word all but exploded from him on a whoosh of white-hot pain. Bile burned the back of his throat even as his vision blurred. Oh no. No way could that be tears flooding his eyes. But geezus, his right knee was suddenly on fire! "Magee, report." Ziegler's command came over the radio in a clipped staccato, quiet and yet completely alert. "What's going on? What do you see?" Ryan blinked—yeah, those were tears in his eyes alright—and forced himself to think beyond the pain, to focus above all else on the objective, on his mission as he'd been trained. He'd been in worse positions than this, been in even more pain. He trained his gaze through the darkness to where he heard the sound, where he thought he sensed the movement. What he saw made him curse. The lid to one of the side opening crates he'd passed several yards back had fallen open, landing against the side of another nearby crate. Wouldn't you know it? He had a freaking crate lid to thank for this latest ding. "False alarm, sir," he reported through gritted teeth because, dammit, this wasn't just a ding. That false alarm was still shooting gut-wrenching pain through his lower right side. What in the hell had he done to himself? He'd more than simply twisted his knee with that sudden sweeping turn he'd just done. Magee forced himself to take shallow, even breaths, to embrace the pain rather than attempt to fight against it. Still, when he looked down and focused on his injured knee through the darkness, he said a quick word of thanks that he hadn't been cursed with a weak stomach. Cripes! Even through the torn material of his jungle print BDUs—battle dress uniform pants—he could see he'd done a real number on himself. How could he not have seen that six inch piece of jagged stray metal jutting out from the rail of the catwalk directly level with his knee? If he didn't know better he would swear the dammed thing was some kind of booby trap, a make shift sword set to stab at one of the most venerable parts of the human body, because that's exactly what had happened. In executing his Right Said Fred catwalk turn he'd effectively turned right into that piece of metal, stabbing himself straight through his knee directly behind his kneecap.


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"Copy that. False alarm," Ziegler repeated though his tone rang with skepticism. "Have you reached a better vantage point?" Magee would have laughed at that if waves of sheer pain hadn't been shooting from his knee like the finale of a fireworks show on the fourth of July. A better vantage point? No! If anything he was in a far worse position to acquire a visual of the squad with his back now toward said squad and his right leg literally attached to the catwalk. "Negative," he answered and repositioned the M16 in his left hand, freeing up his right. "I've run into a little…snag, sir." Still breathing slow and shallow, he put his right hand on his thigh just above his knee, bit the insides of his lips to hold in the roar of pain sure to come, and pulled his knee free. A lesser man, defiantly one with a weaker stomach, would have been laid out cold by the sharp world of agony that followed his sudden release from the metal bar. A bead of sweat rolled between his eyes to drip off the tip of his nose as the edges of his vision grew fuzzy and dark. Still, he remained on his feet…foot. Yes, foot. Singular. Considering he could hardly put an ounce of weight on his injured leg without that bead of sweat multiplying faster than a Gremlin tossed in an Olympic swimming pool. Nope, cold definitely didn't describe his current body temperature. He supposed weak didn't describe the current state of his stomach either, even through said stomach did do a quick, decided roll and threaten to retch as the pain rocked his system. "What kind of snag?" Ziegler demanded, his skepticism morphing into something else Ryan couldn't quite name. Was it possible the commander was concerned about him? Right Magee. You stabbed the metal through your knee, not your head. Even if his cursed outburst over the quiet radio set when the metal first penetrated his flesh had alarmed the CO, Ziegler certainly wouldn't let it show over an open frequency to the whole squad. After all, they were big, bad Navy SEALs. Ziegler, as the team's CO, was the biggest and badest of them all. "Have you run into trouble, Magee?" Ziegler demanded when Ryan remained silent just a little too long. "Report." Had he run into trouble? The commander couldn't possibly know how on target he was with that question. "Affirmative. I'm hurt, sir. I could use Ace's help if he's anywhere close by."

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"Were you hit? What's happening up there?" "Negative. I uh…" Magee let his words trail off, shook his head, sighed. Frustration tangled with the pain coursing through him. "I miss-stepped, sir. I caught a stray piece of metal in the knee. I can't tell myself, but I think it's pretty bad." And now, on top of the aggravation and pain throwing a party in his veins, he felt like a real dumbass too. No way could he really have taken himself out of the action with that stupid reflexive move. "McCormick, double time it back to Magee." Ziegler tossed out the command in rapid fire now. "On my way to you, Magee," Lieutenant Junior Grade Brandon "Ace" McCormick's too young voice sounded over the radio headset. "Cabelly, are we still in your sights?" the commander wanted to know. "Aye-aye, sir." "Good. Keep it that way. Spazetty, Dugger, move in. Keep your eyes sharp and weapons at the ready. Quiet as they go, boys." "Sure thing, Commander. We are like the wind," Spazetty whispered, and the radio fell silent. In front of Magee, as though he materialized there, McCormick appeared. The medic dropped to his knees on the catwalk—a short distance for a man who barely stood five foot seven inches—took one look at Magee's tattered pant leg and shook his head. He reached up, caught the cord of his headset in his hand and switched off his mic. Ryan did the same. This way, he and McCormick could hear the squad below but the squad wouldn't hear them. "Christ man, what did you do, try to skewer yourself? Tonight's main course, leg shish kabob." Ace tilted his neck back to look up at Magee. Even in the grayness of the warehouse, his wide, goofy grin shown bright. "Sorry dude. I know we missed chow but, even so, I think I'll pass. It just doesn't sound all that appetizing." What, was everyone on the squad a lame comedian tonight? Ryan wondered and, because he suddenly felt left out, he asked, "How do you know I didn't do it just to get you on your knees in front of me, McCormick?" "Shit! I hope not." The Lieutenant let out a quiet laugh and began to dig in his medical pack. "I like you a lot dude but you just aren't my type. Hold still."


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Magee clenched his teeth as McCormick tore open the leg of his pants to expose the wound. Still, he couldn't stop the hushed grunt that escaped as the medic began to examine the damage. "Looks like you missed the kneecap," Ace told him. "Barely. Lucky you. You're loosing a good bit of blood though. Not so lucky you." His actions mirrored his words as he continued. "I'm going to tie it off, stop the bleeding. I'll do a quick patch up for now. The best I can do in the dark. Sure would have been nice if we hadn't lost the night vision goggles. A pair of those would come in pretty handy right about now." Yeah, no shit they would have come in handy. Maybe if he'd had the goggles, he would have seen the metal dagger before becoming one with it. "Almost done." At Ryan's low grunt of pain, Ace added, "Hurts like a bitch, huh?" "Just do what you have to do to get us moving again," Magee said through gritted teeth. "I'm going to give you a local to dull the pain." Magee felt the needle pierce his flesh even as he heard the words and then, ah yes… The shot didn't offer instant relief from the pain, nor did it banish it completely, but it was dammed close. The edges of the white-hot flame in his knee began to dim, and he found he could think clearly once more. "You'll need a tetanus shot when we return to base," McCormick was saying. "X-rays too, of course. You did a real number on it. I can't tell exactly how bad it is but—" "It'll be fine." Magee spoke over him. "What's happening with the squad?" As if his question went out over an open mic, Spazetty came back with an immediate answer. This time Spaz's voice rang with disappointment and frustration. "Nothing here but another empty room, sir." "Appears to be a bit smaller than the other one, but my guess is Phay's men used it for the same purpose," Dugger added in his Ben-Stein-sounding voice. "Cleaned it up and out just as good too. This was no rush job, Commander. These bastards definitely knew we were coming." Yep, no doubt because of that nifty little GPS device on the senator's daughter's phone, Magee thought. Anger bubbled inside him, and he welcomed it to boil over the remnants of the pain the shot hadn't completely

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staunched. They had been after Phay and his men for so long. They had waited patiently, collected every bit of information on the fucker and his operation they could gather, carefully planned the entire mission complete from insertion to extraction and everything in between, trained countless hours just for this…. Only to have it all morphed into one gigantic goat fuck of momentous proportions because of a spoiled rich kid. "This entire place is deserted, Commander," Spazetty said. "I'll be surprised if we find even a drop of oil on the concrete much less a speck of coke or a poppy seed." "Looks like you may be right," Ziegler agreed with a heavy sigh. "Nevertheless, proceed with caution. McCormick, Magee, are you mobile yet?" Magee reached up, switched his mic back on, but Ace stopped him before he could answer. "Are you sure you can walk, man? That knee is pretty fu—" "I can walk," Magee snapped. The edges of the pain he still felt despite the local served as fuel for his rapidly heating temper. Having a man down on the team was bad enough. Being that man really put the piss in the Cheerios he'd eaten that morning. Ace shook his head, but a ghost of a smile quirked the edges of his lips. "Tough as nails son-of-a-bitch," he muttered and switched on his own mic to answer the commander. "We're ready to rock, sir." "Move back outside. Watch your asses. Check that shed to the left of the entrance. Senator Hampton's daughter is obviously not in here but she's still inside the compound. Don't ask me how I know. I just do. Cabelly, move with McCormick and Magee. Radio in when you find her." Ziegler's instincts were legendary on the squad. No one would question the CO. "Babysitters-r-us, at your service," Magee muttered. Then he remembered he'd turned his mic back on and added, "sir." "Are you being a smart ass, Magee?" Ziegler wanted to know but, even behind the warning in his tone, Ryan could also hear a trace of amusement. "No, sir. Just pissed that we aren't getting our chance to fuck these fuckers, sir." "You have such a way with words," Ace said on a half-laugh as he shouldered his medic bag and readied his weapon.


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"Meet you two at the end of the catwalk," Cabelly said over the headset, his words followed once again by the soft humming of his theme song for tonight's op. "Hampton's daughter is a real looker, you know," Ace said softly as he and Magee began to move. "You're kidding, right?" Magee said and barely kept the question from sounding like a growl. Damn, but the fire in his knee roared back to life with a whoosh like gasoline being tossed onto an open flame. It was all he could do not to double over from the razor sharp daggers that shot though his knee. Each step required intense focus. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to listen. He simply wanted to be left alone in this new world of pain he'd found, a world where even the magic drug in the shot Ace had given him couldn't block the torment caused by putting weight on his right leg. Still, maybe if he somehow kept his mind off the pain…. "Isn't she like jailbait, dude?" "No way, man. Didn't you see the pic the commander passed around on the boat?" Magee shook his head, then realizing McCormick's gaze was on the catwalk before them and not on him, he said, "No. I didn't get a look." He'd been too busy studying the map of the compound Dugger had drawn. Rescuing the senator's daughter had been the lowest on his priority scale, the capture and containment of Phay, his merry cartel of men, and the mountain of drugs he'd been so sure they would find had been at the top of his personal list. He'd been certain once the squad completed their primary objective, the secondary one—the rescue of Ms. Lara Hampton—would fall neatly into place. Instead, it fell right into Magee's lap. Wouldn't you know it? "Boy, I did and, damn Skippy, the woman is one hell of a looker," Cabelly cut in over the radio. "You can bet your sweet asses I'll be first in line to receive the thank yous when we rescue that curvy body of hers. Although, I sure would like to get to her before that curvy body starts sagging and that blond hair turns gray. You guys want to pick up the pace a bit? I'm starting to become one with my place on the concrete here." Damn, they were moving slow, Magee realized. At this rate, he and McCormick might reach the end of the catwalk by sun up. Still, a SEAL

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team only moved as fast as their slowest member, and right now that slowest member was him. Magee bit back his pride along with yet another growl of pain and draped an arm around Ace's shoulders. He was nearly five inches taller than the medic and it made the position uncomfortable, but if he could give the shorter man some of his slack they could move faster. "Help me out. Let's double time." "You got it, buddy," Ace said, his own arm moving to encircle Magee's waist. Shorter or not, the man had muscle, and with his help Magee was able to do a limping version of a run that quickened their pace by at least half. Ensign John Cabelly came into view the moment Magee and Ace reached the stairs that would lead them down from the catwalk. Actually, it was the man's white-blond hair Magee saw first, so bright it dammed near glowed in the darkness of the warehouse. The ensign seemed uncharacteristically serious as he took the steps two at a time, stopping on Magee's left side opposite Ace. The men all but picked up Magee and carried him down the stairs and out of the warehouse doors into the moonlit night beyond. "Just so you know," Cabelly leaned in to tell Magee in a whisper that even with its quietness seemed to slice through the serene jungle night. "I'm relinquishing my bid for first place in line to get thanked by the daughter. A wounded man takes precedence. Make sure you get her to kiss that knee though and make it better. Then she can work her way up." Magee didn't reply. He didn't have to. If he wanted Lara Hampton to thank him in an extra special way when this was all over, he had no doubt it would happen. Ace brought a finger to his lips to silence them, and then motioned with that same finger to a spot on their left. The shed the commander ordered them to scope out was little bigger than a guard shack nestled off to the left of the main warehouse between a couple of trees. Could Lara Hampton really be in there? It seemed odd that Phay and his goons would simply leave her behind. Magee thought it more likely they would take her, leave the phone with its telling GPS chip behind for the SEALs to find along with a lock of hair or a severed finger and a ransom demand for the senator. Maybe, right this very moment, Lara Hampton was being tortured and raped, held for an exorbitant amount of money that even a U.S. senator


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couldn't raise in time. Even if Lawrence Hampton could pull it off, he would then be on his own to get his daughter back because under no circumstances did the U.S. government negotiate with terrorists. Then again, Magee thought as both Ace and Cabelly slowly released their holds on him, as he gingerly took back all of his own weight, Lara Hampton could very well be inside that shed as the commander suspected. Maybe Phay and his men left her behind because carting around a dead body served little purpose and hampered their need for a speedy escape. Or maybe they would find her inside beaten and bloody, hardly recognizable. Ace signaled for Cabelly to go one way and Magee the other, flanking the shed on either side. Ace took the lead at the front. He hesitated only a second and shot a grim, pointed glare at Magee's knee. Magee knew what the man was thinking. Could he handle moving on his own, operating without help? Yes. Yes, he could. Magee nodded and the three men started to move. Magee stopped his gruesome speculations of the fate of Lara Hampton as he once again concentrated on breathing, on thinking over the pain, on moving his own limbs silently and covertly even with a blown knee. They had taken on radio silence once more, relying on eye contact and hand signals for communication as they secured the shack and the immediate surrounding ground. He had no time to worry about his injury, no time to be distracted. Two of his team members were depending on him to cover his part, to operate as he'd been trained above all else. Their lives were literally in his hands just as his was in theirs. All three men were ready for whatever leapt out at them. Nothing did. Instead, they found a very dirty, very frightened Lara Hampton. McCormick removed a small flashlight from one of the many pockets of his cargo pants and shined it on her. She winced as the light swept over her terrified eyes. Her scream was barely audible around the gag shoved in her mouth and secured there with duct tape. Yep, that would hurt coming off. Her hands were tied behind her back, her feet bound at the ankles, and she sat on the cold concrete of the shed floor. But she was in one piece, completely clothed with no trace of blood in sight, and only a hint of a few bruises. Magee took post at one side of the door while Cabelly moved to stand guard in the shadow of one of the trees outside the shed. Magee heard him

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whispering to Lara that she would be okay, that they were US Navy SEALs, that they were here to get her out of there. It surprised him how comforting and, well, sweet Ace sounded. Was the height-challenged SEAL attempting to cement his own place as first in line in the thank you parade? Lara Hampton would be smart to go for a man like Ace. Though the medic often played along well in conversation, he wasn't the playing type. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Ace asked in a voice just a decibel above a whisper. Lara must have shaken her head because he said, "Good. Good. We need to get that tape off your mouth. Do you want to do it? No? Okay, I'll do it for you. It's going to hurt a bit. No, don't close your eyes. Keep them open. Find something to focus on. When you close your eyes you tend to focus on the pain. Are you ready? Okay, here we go." Magee couldn't help it. He had to look and, well, what do you know? The focal point she found to distract her from the coming pain was him. She gasped, a loud breathy sound followed by a quick squeak of pain when Ace removed the tape from her mouth and the gag fell out. Still, her gaze didn't waver from Magee's eyes. He watched as Ace tossed the now balled up gag and tape aside and brought a hand to one side of her jaw, brushed the backs of his fingers over her reddened flesh. "Stings, huh?" he asked. Only then did she look at Ace. "A little," she answered softly. "It will be okay. Thank you. Could you uh…." She wiggled, turned slightly to one side to show him her still bound hands. "Oh yeah, of course." Ace made quick work of the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. "I'm sorry. I wanted to get that tape off first. You know, so you could talk to us." Magee smiled to himself, shook his head and returned his attention to the grounds outside the little shed. "We've got the girl," he said into his headset. "McCormick is checking her out now. We should be ready to roll again in another few seconds." "Copy that." Ziegler's voice came instantly back. "We're just about finished in here as well. Spazetty's stumbled across something I want to check out. Move out when you're ready. We'll meet back at the extraction point." "Copy." Magee reached to switch off his mic before he tossed McCormick a look over his shoulder. "Can she walk?" Though he'd


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obviously directed his question to McCormick, it was Lara who answered. In the soft bit of light, Magee saw her gaze rake over his body, settle on his wounded knee for half a heartbeat, and then work its way up again. "I could ask you the same question," she said, her voice stronger and steadier than Magee would have expected. "But yeah, I can walk. I'm a bit bruised, a little sore, but I think the thing that hurts most is my pride." She got carefully to her feet, wincing only a little as she straightened her limbs to their full length. And what a full length they were. Magee might have felt like a real pig checking her out under the current circumstances if he hadn't caught McCormick looking at her with unabashed heat in his eyes. Yeah, Ace had been right. The senator's daughter was indeed one hell of a looker. The past seventy-two hours had left her long blond hair matted over half of her head. Streaks of dirt and grime decorated her face, arms and legs. Her clothes— once a pair of kaki shorts that rode low on her hips and stopped at mid-thigh and a tank top made of a cool looking material with a safari print—were torn, ratted and covered in at least ten kinds of yuck found in the Cambodian jungle. Still, despite her current fashion model meets Jane of the Jungle appearance, her natural beauty shown through. "How about you?" Lara asked, but before Magee could answer, or even figure out if he was supposed to answer, she turned her attention to Ace. "I'm okay. I've got it. Thanks. So what hurts worse, that knee or your pride?" She was talking to him again. Magee shifted his weight and somehow managed to keep his face carefully blank as slivers of pain played ping-pong from his knee to various parts of his body. Ace was watching him expectantly too, no doubt waiting to see what Magee would say. Which hurt worse, his knee or his pride? He didn't want to admit to either so he didn't. He turned his attention to Ace instead. "We need to move. We'll hook up with the rest of the team at the extraction point." He switched his mic on. "We're coming out, Cabelly. Get ready to move." "Ready and waiting," Cabelly responded from his position outside the shed. "All's clear out here. We're safe as a bug in a rug, my boys." "Where does he come up with this shit?" Ace whispered, shaking his head as he gently grasped Lara's elbow. "Don't encourage him," Magee said. He pushed open the shed door, scanned the immediate area with both his

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eyes and the barrel of his M16 then gave Ace an all-clear nod. "Just be thankful he isn't singing to us." "Oh, you want a song?" Cabelly moved from his point at the edge of the shed to join them. His movements were silent though he continued to chatter. "Wait. Let me think of one. How about—" "How about we play the radio quiet game boys?" the commander cut in. "You idiots are having too much fun tonight." "It's our way of acting out, sir," Cabelly attempted to explain. "These mother fuckers are no where to be found and, while what we would really love to do is go on an open rampage search of this entire fucking country, we realize that action would be neither a covert operation nor a productive one so…." "So you want to sing about it instead," the commander finished for him. "A decent plan B given the circumstances I suppose, but wait until we're aboard the Seaboard before you continue to carry out that plan. A search of the country would do no good at this point gentleman. These fuckers, as Cabelly has so aptly named them, have gone underground. We're almost to the extraction point. Double-time it boys. We'll be waiting for you." "Copy that, sir." Cabelly answered, instantly compliant. "We'll be there in a flash." He switched off his mic as he came up beside Magee. Without a word, the taller SEAL slipped an arm around Magee and began to move. Grateful for the prop, Magee leaned on the other man as he began a fast limped through the jungle. "Ace, you got the girl?" Another arm snaked around him opposite Cabelly. This arm felt slimmer, not quite as strong but nowhere near as weak as he would have expected. "Actually the girl has you," Lara said, her lips almost brushing his ear as she leaned in to speak. "I figured at least one of you should have full range of one of those weapons. You know, so you can rescue the girl without any of us getting hurt." She glanced down at his knee and corrected, "More hurt." Magee looked at her and he knew. All he need do was say the word. Hell, if he played his cards right, he could turn this injury into a real advantage, have a different woman every night of the week to take his mind off the pain until his knee healed. Not that it would last long. A couple of weeks, maybe a month, and he would be back to normal and right in the middle of the action.


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Chapter 1 Tina Walker glanced at the gas gauge of her decade old Honda and groaned. A quick look at the dashboard clock had the sound turning into a curse. She'd forgotten to get gas. Again. If she stopped to fill up now she would be late for work. Again. She couldn't afford to be late. The car gave a little sputter of warning. A choice, she decided. Take the time to get gas now and only be a few minutes late or run out completely and not make it to work at all. Spotting a station less than a block away, she reached for her pocketbook on the seat beside her as she steered the car into the parking lot. She yanked out her credit card, stomped on the brake and cursed. All the pumps were either taken or half-blocked. "Shit, shit, shit!" She punched the gas pedal hard enough to make the car lurch forward and pulled before the half-blocked pump, backing up next to it until her bumper nearly kissed the front bumper of the spiffy cherry red truck in her way. She was out the door and around the car in the next heartbeat, twisting off the gas cap and then swiping her credit card in the slot. She eyed the distance from the gas hose to the tank on the car. With any luck, the hose would reach. Praying her luck was taking a turn to the bright side, she pulled the nozzle free and started to stretch. "It's not going to make it, honey." Amusement laced the male voice and Tina gritted her teeth, tugged harder on the hose. "Yes it will." She proved it when she gave the hose one last yank, shoved the nozzle in the hole of the tank. "Guess you're right. It would've been easier if you would have given me a second to move my truck." "It would've been easier if you wouldn't have blocked the gas pump in the first place," Tina countered hotly. "Thanks to you I'll be lucky if I'm not late for—" She broke off as she shot a glance over her shoulder, and froze. Ryan Magee stood leaning against the front fender of the truck, arms folded

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over his wide chest, feet crossed at the ankles, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and a mischievous grin tilting his lips. Her nipples tightened in immediate response and a low humming heat sparked between her legs. He looked, she decided, like a very inviting, very sexy truck accessory. Yeah, no doubt about it, Chevrolet would sell a lot more trucks if a man like him came with the package. Then his gaze met hers and his heartbeat-ofAmerica smile faded. Dammit, what was it about her that made every hot spot on this man go cold as ice? **** "I didn't realize it was you," Ryan said curtly. He pushed himself off the truck, raked a hand over his short crop of hair. All elation at finding the shapely brunette struggling with the gas hose morphed into irritation the instant she looked at him. Tina Walker was both a reminder of everything he loathed in a woman and the sex kitten of his every fantasy. Today his walking wet dream was clad in a crisp white blouse tucked into black slacks with black sensible looking shoes. She'd pulled her long dark hair into a tight ponytail at her nape, leaving lots of smooth, creamy flesh exposed along her neck to fuel his desires to touch and taste. "I'll be out of you way in a second," she told him, returning her attention to the hose. Ryan shot a glance through the back window of her car, noted it was empty. "Where's Timmy?" "I dropped him off at Dean and Veronica's fifteen minutes ago." "Figures," Ryan muttered and felt a sharp pain of sympathy for the boy even as lust swirled in his gut for the boy's mother. It disgusted him how attracted he was to her. Any woman who put herself, who put men before her son had no business being a mother. "What's that supposed to mean?" She whipped her head around, pinned him with a stony glare, and her grip faltered on the gas hose. She squeaked when the nozzle clicked, stopping the flow of fuel even as it slipped free of the tank. The hose—stretched too tight as it was—jerked back, bringing her with it. Instinct and reflex had Ryan lunging toward her. He caught the hose in one hand, his other winding around her waist, steadying them both and


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rocking his own world down to his toes. Geezus but she felt amazing! All smooth curves, delicious heat, and intoxicating scents. His cock hardened to the point of pain and he nearly growled from the sudden wave of animalistic need that washed through him. Despite their difference in height, her body seemed to mold itself to his, curve-to-curve, line-to-line. A perfect fit, he mused as a clear image of her naked and sweaty beneath him formed in his mind. His pulse picked up a notch, all the blood in his body heading south at the thought of being with her, shoving his cock inside her. Her eyes, wide from the surprise of being caught off guard, turned glassy and her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth and back again. It was that sultry, promising, and wickedly tempting move that jolted him to his senses. Irritation roared to life beneath the lust and he welcomed it, allowed it to consume the unwanted desires. "Get out of here, Tina," he told her gruffly and released her, took a hurried step back. "You're going to be late." **** Ryan hopped down from the driver seat of Engine 1. Not until he landed securely on his booted feet, his right leg absorbing the bulk of his two hundred plus pounds, did he realize he felt…nothing. Hoo-yah! He took a half a heartbeat to test it for good measure. A quick flex of the muscle, a little rotation, and finally a hard stomp. Oh yeah! He still felt nothing. Except the sudden urge to dance, he mused and realized he was grinning like an idiot. Given what he'd expected to be a short two-week recovery period had morphed into nearly two years, he figured he'd earned the right to be foolishly happy. Too bad that happiness was mixed with such a bitter tasting fear. Geezus, when was the last time he'd been afraid of anything, before the accident anyway? It had been a subconscious move, a normal move that had taken him out that night in the Cambodian Jungle. What if he did it again? What if he idiotically moved out of reflex rather than design and stupidly hurt himself again? What would happen to him then? Would Dean Wolcott—Silver Springs Fire Department B shift Captain—take him out of

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the department the way Lieutenant Commander Korbin Ziegler had taken him out of the SEALs? No. Be a man about it, Magee. The truth was he'd taken himself out of the SEALs, out of the Navy. He'd made the decision to go for the career change and become a firefighter and no one could take him out again unless he allowed it. Ryan was as good a firefighter as he'd been a SEAL and, after three surgeries and countless hours spent in physical therapy for a wound that should have been superficial at best, it seemed he'd finally healed enough to show his new team exactly what he was made of. Starting right now. Demonstration or not, the gathered crowd deserved a good show and he would be the one to give it to them. "Let me do this one." Ryan's words stopped Jason Graham in the act of reaching for the booster line. The other firefighter hesitated, looked to Ryan, and then glanced at the fire raging several yards away. He looked at Lieutenant Tripp Barrett who stood at a modified parade stance at the front bumper of the engine, his arms crossed and face grim, and finally to Ryan once more. "I can handle it." Ryan bit back the urge to shout when Jason continued to hesitate. Dammit! He hated it when someone second-guessed anything he did or said. More, he absolutely despised the look he could read in Jason eyes right now. It was a look of pure uncertainty, of question and doubt. Was Ryan really up to the task? Would Jason be putting the lives of his fellow firefighters and several dozen bystanders in danger by allowing Ryan to take the hose? Jason's questioning gaze darted to the lieutenant again. The lieutenant's almost imperceptible nod was followed by Dean Wolcott's voice over the loud speaker. Though the captain stood at the edge of the gathered crowed far away from the engine, his words made it clear that he hadn't missed the exchange. "Ladies and gentlemen, taking point on the hose of Engine Co. 1 in our little demonstration for you this afternoon is firefighter Ryan Magee." Ryan had his fingers wrapped around the nozzle of the booster line before the word gentleman left the captain's lips. Jason moved around him to the pump panel, pushed the appropriate buttons, pulled the right lever and a gush of water at 80 PSI rushed through the hose in Ryan's hands. "Looking to show off for the crowd, Magee?"


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Bailey Lamont's disapproving tone didn't surprise him. Hell, truth be known, he probably deserved whatever B shift's only female firefighter chose to dish out at him. He'd been giving her hell almost since her first day on the department a mere couple of months after his own first day. He supposed it was no wonder she hated his guts. Of course, the one time he decided to tackle a blazing inferno on his own—even if said fire was purposely set and contained—had to be a time when Lamont would be his partner. Not that they hadn't paired before. As both were part of Engine Co. 1, they responded to most calls together. They even teamed, along with the lieutenant, to rescue two women and a young boy from an elevator stuck between floors in a power outage several months back. A young boy, Ryan remembered, who turned out to be Timmy Walker, Tina's son. Dammit! Until now he'd managed to forget his run-in this morning with the sultry, delectable single mother. Her scent, the feel of her soft curves, the promise of sheer blissful satisfaction beyond his most exotic fantasies that he'd glimpsed in her eyes, had stayed with him long after he'd pulled away from the gas station. She taunted him, consumed his thoughts, fueled his desires until he'd nearly been forced to find a restroom to relieve the ache in his cock and balls. If not for the job at hand, he'd have done just that. As the engineer of Engine 1, Ryan's place was with the truck. His responsibility lay with the driving, pump operation and controls of the engine. Normally, his position would be to remain with the truck on a fire scene but not today. Today he and Jason were switching roles. Although, it took Ryan only one glance into the hard, ice-cold eyes of Bailey Lamont for him to know she didn't care for this little switch-a-roo game. No, if anything, she looked ready to fight more than the raging car fire. Not too smart to piss off a woman with a pry bar in her hand, Magee. But the mere sight of him was usually all it took to accomplish that. Best he could do was to steer clear of her and that pry bar as they worked together to put out this fire for the watching crowd. Bailey quickly scanned the edge of said crowd. She shook her head and leveled that ice on him once more. "I don't see any hot, shapely blonds in the crowd. Open house is usually more of a family event. Not too many single women looking for a quick roll with a muscle bound womanizer for you to impress."

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Then again, Ryan thought, getting in Bailey Lamont's way was always so much fun. And pissing her off… Well, he had to admit the woman was dammed hot when she was pissed. The fact he'd asked her out and she'd shot him down more than once not withstanding, he liked Bailey. She'd proven herself a solid firefighter, strong, able to withstand the demands and challenges of the job as well as any man and he'd begun to treat her as such. Why she'd gone from merely disliking him to pure loathing he couldn't say, but it hadn't taken long for them to be at each other's throats. Perhaps it was his brief association with EMT Terri Vega that gave Bailey such a low opinion of him. Or maybe it was simply something he said. Ryan would be the first to admit while he treated Bailey like one of the guys, his comments and needling couldn't always be considered unisex. Just like the one he made now. "You're here, you're hot." He let his gaze fall down the full length of her body. "And, my oh my, but you are a shapely woman, Lamont." Though true, it didn't hold at the present with her dressed in complete turnout gear from her buttoned heavy ass jacket, to her bulky bunker pants, all the way to her soot stained fire boots. She snorted. "You're not blond but hey, three out of four ain't bad. Maybe I'm trying to impress you." That got him an eye roll and a shake of the head, followed by a furtive glance in the direction of the lieutenant. Ah yes, he'd noticed a little something going on between Lamont and the lieutenant as of late. At first, Ryan thought it simply his imagination but in the last six months he'd really begun to wonder. It seemed that something might be morphing into a tangible thing. Come to think of it, it seemed the imagined spark he sensed stepped into reality around about the time that the three of them rescued those people from that hotel elevator. Ryan cast a glance at the LT, too, and, uh oh, pissing off his Lieutenant was definitely not a smart career move. He gave the LT a small nod and hoped the other man would take it as an apology as much as a thank you for authorizing his switch with Jason. "You want the truth, Lamont?" He readied his grip on the nozzle even as he began a quick paced approach toward the fire. He sensed more than saw Bailey keeping pace at his side. "The only person I'm trying to impress right now is me."


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"You have more upper body strength than I do," she told him in an admission that, though blatantly obvious, shocked him to his toes. "You should be the one busting the windows." "What, and steal your chance to show off too?" Ryan shook his head. "Naw. You do your part, and I'll do mine. We'll both show them all what we can do." He shot her a lopsided grin that, wonder of wonders, actually made her laugh then he sprinted to the car on a knee that didn't scream in pain, or wobble, or threaten to give out on him. He came to an abrupt halt fifteen feet from the front bumper of the car, watched with a soft chuckle of his own as Bailey smashed the pry bar through the front windshield. She leapt out of the way as the flames inside licked through the new opening toward the sky. He let the flames burn that way for a full minute listening to the gasps of the crowd, the chatter and amazed but soft cries of jubilation. To his left and away from the gawking crowd he spotted the captain who gave him a small nod of approval before returning his attention to the young boy at his side. Though little Timmy Walker probably knew nearly as much about the ins and outs of firefighting as Ryan, the boy appeared to be completely focused on the explanation the captain was giving him and the crowd around them. Ryan didn't bother to look for Tina. He knew she wouldn't be there. She was never in the same place as her child. Except for that one time outside the Sparkling Waters Hotel when she'd finally arrived to see about Timmy, he reminded himself. Though it had never been confirmed, he suspected the only reason Timmy and his sitter had been in the elevator that day was because they'd been looking for Tina. No doubt because she spent the night in the hotel with a man instead of being at home with her son, he thought in disgust. And for that reason, no matter how sultry and delectable Ryan found her, he despised her. Pushing all thoughts of Tina aside, Ryan looked back at the fire. Through the haze of the flames, he caught sight of another onlooker, this one so surprising it caused him to pause for another full ten seconds. He narrowed his eyes, straining to bring the face into better focus through the distance and the flames. The face was turned, affording him a view of its side profile, as she spoke almost at direct eye level with someone on her left. DEA Agent Michael Cosmos, Ryan realized as recognition settled. The woman laughed, said something more and then turned just a little to the front, just enough and… "Well, I'll be dammed," Ryan muttered aloud as

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flashbacks of the past assailed him. Bailey had been wrong because there was at least one hot, shapely blonde in the crowd today. Her presence raised a huge question, however. Okay, make that two questions. What in the hell was Lara Hampton doing in Silver Springs and why was she keeping company with one of the top agents in the Silver Springs office of the DEA? **** Tina Walker bit back the urge to laugh at her boss. She stared at him and couldn’t stop the images of his too large head wobbling around uncontrollably on his too small neck like one of those bobblehead dolls Timmy liked to play with. She'd heard a person's head described as a bowling ball but, until she started working at the Golden Coral Seafood House under the management of Bob "the bobblehead" Rainer, she never saw a first hand example. Put Bobblehead's bowling ball head on top of a toothpick sized neck and it made for one very amusing sight. Especially when the rest of the man was as oddly proportioned a Bob Rainer. Wide shoulders, an even wider chest, potbelly stomach, barely there ass and a pair of legs that simply could not contain enough muscle or meat to hold up such an oddball frame. Still, somehow they managed to do so at an impressive height of almost five foot eleven. No. Laughing at her boss was probably not the ideal path for continued job security, but yelling at him, releasing all of this pent up anger she felt bubbling just below that laughter would no doubt be a sure fire way to get fired. How dare he take such advantage of her! Dammit, she was tired of men using her, thinking they could do whatever they wanted to her and she would simply stand there like a passive obedient puppy and take it. No. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't do it. The words were on the tip of her tongue but, when she opened her mouth, it was a resounding yes that left her lips. Yes, once again she gave Bobblehead exactly what he expected. Once again, she became that passive obedient puppy. She could all but feel the collar tighten around her neck as Bobblehead gave her a wide, crooked tooth grin and half expected herself to start barking in excitement next. Hell, maybe she would even spend a few seconds spinning in a circle, chasing her tail. "Great!" Bobblehead gave her a hearty slap on the back of her shoulder.


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Hey, wasn't a dog supposed to get a treat when it did something good? Where was her dammed treat? "I knew I could count on you." Bobblehead started to back his way out of the matchbox-sized break room. The lopsided grin on his lips never wavered. "Your break is over, right? I just sat a family of six at table thirteen. Don't leave them waiting." He winked at her. Winked at her! Then turned and walked away. "But table thirteen is not in my station," Tina called after him, but he disappeared into his office down the narrow hall without so much as a glance back. "It is now, honey." Nancy Aaron sounded sympathetic as she passed Tina on her way to the fold down table at the far end of the break room. "He let Christy cut out early." "He let her go early?" The anger that had started to cool reached a rapid boil almost immediately at the news. "We've barely gotten through the lunch rush. Now we're going to be a waitress short out there!" The older woman shrugged, her mouth set in a grim line as she began to add a mountain of butter to the baked potato on her tray. "Christy had some kind of appointment. I heard her tell Mr. Rainer it was the only one she could get on short notice." "An appointment? On a Saturday?" Tina couldn't hide the disbelief in her tone. No doubt, Christy's appointment had been at the beach or one of the casino bars across the river in Billings. The twenty-four year old seemed to live for only three things: men, tanning and booze. Talk about traveling a dead end path. "She probably has a hot date." Nancy voiced exactly what Tina was thinking. "It wouldn't be the first time she stuck either you or Rhonda here while she concocted some excuse about an appointment or something." The older women picked up her fork and began stabbing her baked potato. "Pretty coincidental, if you ask me. These sudden appointments she gets that always come up on a Friday or Saturday afternoon." "She keeps doing it because she knows she can get away with it." Tina fumed. She hated listening to gossip, hated more being the one to gossip, but if she didn't let out a little of this steam before she returned to the restaurant floor all of the customers in the house would leave with scorch marks on their exposed flesh.

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"Exactly." Nancy nodded then shoved a bite of the potato into her mouth and talked around it. "Mr. Rainer knows if he asks you, or even Rhonda, one of you will stay." "Asked?" Tina snorted. She shoved a hand in her apron pocket, pulled out her order book and flipped it to a fresh page. "Bobblehead never asks me to stay anymore. Oh, he makes it sound like he's giving me a choice, but what he's really doing is telling me I have to stay. Ugg…" She growled then seethed through gritted teeth. "You have no idea how much I would love to tell him no. Just once I want to see the expression on his pudgy face when I say nope, sorry boss, can't do it tonight. I have a hot date." "You do? And you didn't tell me! Tina, I'm crushed." Tina turned sideways in the break room doorway to find Rhonda leaning casually just outside in the narrow hallway, one shoulder resting on the doorframe. Beautiful with large, round sapphire eyes, waist length bleached blond hair, and a body she'd worked hard to trim and tone in the last six months, Rhonda Ramsey should have been battling for a centerfold in a magazine rather than working as a waitress at a seafood restaurant. Instead, Rhonda's eyes were far less bright than they should have been thanks to the bags and dark circles that marred her complexion. Lack of sleep, too much work, and nonstop stress did that to a woman. Just like the way it made Rhonda's heart-shaped lips dip into a frown when she thought no one was watching. "The only hot date I had this afternoon or tonight is with Timmy," Tina explained, realizing Rhonda must have only caught the tale end of her comment. "Too bad." Nancy made a tisking sound with her tongue. "You could really use a hot date with a Mel Gibson look-alike." The older woman's wrinkle-rimmed eyes turned dreamy. "Or maybe that muscle-bound hunk that played in that Mummy movie. You know, the one that's a professional wrestler too. Yeah, you need a man with muscles like him," she said with a firm, decided nod. Her gaze landed on Rhonda, and she added, "Both of you." Rhonda's sigh sounded wistful. "Only in my dreams, Nancy. I'm married, remember?"


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Yeah, married and completely miserable, Tina thought but kept the comment to herself. Geezus, did she know any women who were truly happy anymore, any women in good, healthy relationships? Veronica Wolcott. The name came to mind in answer with a healthy dose of envy right on its heels. The shapely, ballsy blonde married Dean Wolcott, the handsome, sweet and loving captain of Silver Springs Fire Department's B shift. Yeah, with a man like Dean for a husband no way could a woman be unhappy. Not that Tina wanted Dean for herself. No, despite his good looks and charm, she'd never seen him as anything more than a friend. He meant the world to Timmy as both an idol and a friend. Veronica had quickly become a good friend to Timmy and Tina as well. Tina couldn't imagine herself in Veronica's place, couldn't picture herself with Dean. But Ryan Magee…. Now that was a muscle bound, firefighting hunk around which she could definitely form a few fantasies. Could? Ryan was the stuff pure erotic heat was made of. The stuff that could develop a sexual hunger inside her so great nothing but his hands on her flesh could satisfy. Or, as was the case so far, dreams of his hands on her flesh. She already formed several and this morning's encounter, despite the rough and cold way he'd treated her, had done nothing to dispel any of them. One particularly long running day dream staring the drool worthy, panty creaming firefighter involved a Tarzan style loin cloth and a sturdy rope of twigs. Something about him just brought to mind the "me Tarzan, you Jane" thing. Not that she would put up with a man who attempted any kind of Tarzan control role. Still, turning that "me Tarzan, you Jane" around to a "me Jane, you Tarzan," thing on Ryan would indeed be an interesting challenge. "Well, you're not married," Nancy said accusingly as she turned her attention back to Tina. "Though, that isn't surprising since you spend all of your time working. And when you're not working, you're with that boy of yours. You're never going to find a man that way, child. You need to take some time for yourself too. You may be a mother but you aren't dead, sweetheart." No. She wasn't dead. The purely carnal lust that rose in her whenever she thought about Ryan Magee or, Christ, when she caught sight of him, was definite proof of that. And when he'd caught her in his arms this morning, the heat that radiated from him, the hard feel of his body against

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hers…. Even her wildest fantasies about the man hadn't compared to the electricity she'd felt in that one short moment. The man made her feel empowered, made her want things, made her remember that yes, even a mother deserved to have a life. Yet, he also somehow made her feel cheep, inadequate. It made her want to squirm. It had been a long time since a man made her squirm, she thought wistfully. "I don't live like a nun, Nancy," she said and felt an ounce of fight return in her own defense. The older woman leveled her gaze at Tina and raised one brown and gray speckled eyebrow. "Really? From listening to you talk around here, I never would have guessed." Ha. Listening to her talk? More like eavesdropping on her conversations with Rhonda, Tina thought. Yet, it didn't bother her that the older woman knew so much about her business. It wasn't like she had anything to hide. "Tell me child, when was the last time you went on a date with a man over the age of nine?" The ounce of fight Tina felt quickly died. When was the last time she'd gone on a date? Had it been eight months ago? Ten? She couldn't remember for sure. Her last couple of dates turned out to be such a flop that she found herself in a state of forced limbo, disgusted by the men who asked her out. As a mother, she wasn't supposed to want a simple sexual affair. So okay, she wouldn't mind more. Except, the more came with that control issue, and that so wasn't okay with her. "Table thirteen is waiting." Tina pulled her pen from her apron pocket and turned to go. She didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to analyze her love life or lack there of with a sixty-plus hostess no matter how kind and helpful said hostess was attempting to be. "That's why I came back here. Isn't that table in Christy's station?" Rhonda asked. "I got their drinks for them but they're probably ready to order by now." "Christy bailed. I'm picking up her slack. Does she have any other tables out there?" "I don't think so. Looks like we're hitting that lull between the late afternoon and dinner rushes. So she stuck you again, and Bobblehead made you stay?" Rhonda sighed and snuck a peek at her wristwatch. "Didn't you


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have plans with Timmy this afternoon? Something at the fire station, right? Want me to cover instead?" Yes. Please. Thank you. Tina caught herself just before she said the words. "No. I'll stay. I already told Bobblehead I would. Besides, I'm sure you're as anxious to get home to Lucas as I am to get to Timmy. And I know how pissy Preston gets when you work late." "Believe it or not, Lucas is with my mom." Tina couldn't hide her surprise at that and, since Rhonda obviously expected it, she let it show in her upraised brows and dropped jaw. "What did you have to promise her to make that happen?" Rhonda laughed but there was no humor in the tone. "Her idea. Of course, she will surely be calling before eight in the morning wanting to know what time I plan to pick him up. Personally, I would have preferred he stay at home but…." She let her words trail off, shrugged. "Anyways, Preston can have a cow all he wants. Hell, if he does maybe he'll loose some weight. We need the money, and you can bet your ass he won't have a cow when it comes time to spend it." Tina could use the extra money, too, but she wanted to keep the promise she made to Timmy more. Today was the annual open house at the fire station and she promised him she would get there as early as possible. Sure, he was in good hands with Veronica and Dean, but Tina wanted to be there too. And if she got a few good chances to catch sight of Ryan Magee while she was there…. Well, wouldn't she have some sweet dreams tonight? "Hey, where do you intend to go if this thing in the Gulf turns our way?" Rhonda started walking down the hall but shot Tina a quick questioning glance. Was that concern in her eyes? Worry? "Thing? What thing?" "Don't you ever watch the news?" Tina knew she shouldn't, but she bristled at that. "Of course I do," she said and barely kept the bite out of her voice. "Every three seconds that I have free between making breakfast for Timmy, getting Timmy to school, going to job number one, leaving there for job number two—" "Okay, okay," Rhonda laughed and pushed through the swinging door into the back dining room. "You're right. Stupid question. I apologize. You have less time to watch the news than I do. I'm talking about…."

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Tina didn't hear the rest of Rhonda's words because the television behind the bar caught her attention on their way by. A News Channel Five special weather alert. "This is Gail Witherspoon here to give you the latest on Hurricane Emilio," the local meteorologist said in a made-for-television, soft but nononsense tone. "The three o'clock update from The National Hurricane Center puts Emilio just entering the coastal waters. If you have been tracking this storm, you will notice he's begun to turn. This is good news for the west and southern coasts of Florida where, just this morning, Emilio was still expected to make landfall in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours. However, this could be bad news for our area of the Gulf Coast folks. The latest projected path puts Emilio headed straight for Grand Bay, Alabama by late Monday night or early Tuesday morning but the possibility of it turning more toward us is still there. Currently, Emilio is ranked at a category two, but it is expected to slow throughout today, picking up strength to category three status by the time it makes landfall with winds in excess of one hundred-eleven miles per hour." "That thing," Rhonda whispered as the new caster continued her report on the latest hurricane in the busiest season on record in so many years. "Guess I better start watching the news," Tina said dryly. It had been several years since the Gulf Coast had seen any kind of action above that of a tropical storm or depression. Statistically speaking, they were way over due for a major hurricane and it looked as though Emilio could be coming to give them one big, fat kiss. **** Veng Kim Phay wanted to be the one to take the bastard down. He looked down at the grainy surveillance photo on his desk—the one taken in his own warehouse compound so many nights ago—stared into the eyes of the son-of-a-bitch responsible for sending him into hiding these last two years, and he embraced the anger that swirled in his veins, the hunger for revenge that growled low in his gut. His father would have let it go. He would have walked away. If one proved good enough to beat the eldest Phay, to best him in one of his own games, then one deserved the glory of the victory. He never retaliated and


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rarely struck twice. Revenge was never to be sought. Only weaker men, men who could not accept their own failings and defeats, went out for revenge. It was an unnecessary cause of action, a waste. Veng Kim had been raised under that set of rules, raised to carry on in his father's name…and he spat on his father's memory and his new age rules to the generation's old family business. In the five years since he'd stepped into power, he'd brought the business back to the old rules, the old ways of life. And in those five years he'd been bested, yes. He'd been sent underground, his entire operation damn near ruined. But he'd come back bigger and better than ever. Now it was time for revenge. "I suggest we let our men make the delivery and leave port as soon as possible." Veng Kim studied his father's old advisor, his own mentor and friend despite the age difference and conflicting viewpoints. Juan was a good man, smart and well-educated in the ways of the Phay family. Still, as much as he cared for the man, Veng Kim knew Juan to be a coward, the first to hide from confrontation, the first to shake in his spit-shined shoes in the face of Veng Kim's anger. "This storm—" Juan began, but Veng Kim held up a flat hand effectively stopping him in mid-sentence. "This storm has already caused me enough problems. The drop off point has been moved. All arrangements have been made. There will be someone waiting at the Silver Springs port when our men arrive." "Yes, and I suggest when they do, they get in and out as soon as possible. This storm has already pushed our men off schedule and hindered their route. If we expect to get back on schedule—" "You are certain he is in Silver Springs?" Veng Kim cut Juan off again. He couldn't give a damn one about the schedule of his men. That schedule had already been altered once and could be again for the sake of getting what he wanted. No one would move without his direct order, and that order would come when he felt good and ready to issue it. Juan breathed a heavy sigh as if he didn't want to give Veng Kim the answer but knew he must. "I am. He was pitifully easy to locate." His pudgy face brightened marginally. "As I am sure he will be again. He is not attempting to hide nor have I seen any intention of doing so. Even with the release of that article, it doesn't seem to have fazed him. He has made a life for himself, a new career. He seems quite happy. That is why I suggest we

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leave him alone. At least for now. Let our men get in, do what they are set to do, and get out. Later we can—" "No!" Veng Kim's shout resounded off the soundproof office walls, and Juan startled in his chair, his beady eyes so sunken in his chubby face, wide with surprise and fear. Leave him alone? Let the bastard continue with his happy, small town, nothing of a life? No way. No fucking way. Veng Kim stared at the surveillance photo once more, looked, too, at the photo that had run with the newspaper article six months ago. Both were undeniably the same man. One Ryan Magee. Former Naval Officer with the U.S. Navy SEALs, now firefighting engineer with the Silver Springs Fire Department. It had taken a while to track him down, because the United States kept the records of their elite spec ops officers so tightly sealed. But Magee had left the service, and several months later the newspaper article appeared with a gleaming photo of Magee. His fate had been sealed as irrevocably as his military record. No. Veng Kim would not leave Ryan Magee alone. The son-of-a-bitch had been part of the team that forced Veng Kim into hiding two years ago, part of the team that bested him. For two years, Veng Kim operated in the dark because of this man, and all the while the bastard continued on with his life. Sure, Magee left the Navy. According to reports Juan uncovered, the ex-Naval officer sustained an injury on that mission that effectively left him no good to the spec ops team. Veng Kim smiled ruefully at that. Was it possible the injury had happened in his very own compound? The timing worked out to be right. He could only hope. A small piece of revenge when he hadn't even known he was taking it was indeed rather sweet. But not sweet enough. It was a mere sugar substitute to the taste of true revenge he was about to get, of what he deserved because Ryan Magee spent the last two years in the sunlight. The bastard had forced Veng Kim into hiding while he made himself even more accessible, more public and yes, easier to get to. "We do not leave him alone." Veng Kim pushed the photos across the slick, freshly polished surface of his desk. He didn't want those eyes staring up at him any more. Not until the life had been completely drained from them that was. "Have our men make the delivery. Then I want Magee found."


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Juan didn't look happy at all about Veng Kim's decision. "And what would you have them do to him?" "Nothing. I want him brought back to me. I will be the one to take care of him." He would do it slowly too. He would keep the American warrior alive for a while, toy with him, make him suffer, beat him within an inch of his life then let him heal and start over again. He would make an example of this Ryan Magee. This is what happens when you fuck with the new Phay regime. Yes, the revenge in that would surely be sweet enough to give him a toothache. Then, when he finally tired of Magee, he would move to the next one because Magee hadn't been the only one behind his near demise two years before. He was simply the easiest to reach. "He'll be easy to locate." Juan shook his head, his double chins swinging from the ferocity. "He may not be so easy to capture. If you want this job done quick—" Veng Kim slammed an angry balled fist on the desktop. "I want him brought to me." He reached for the photos he'd cast aside and stared once more into the face that he longed to see contorted in agony. He lowered his voice but it still rang with command and fury. "Instruct our men to do whatever it takes. I don't care how they do it. I don't care who they must go through. I want this man captured. I want him delivered to me, and I want him alive."

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Chapter 2 Babysitting. Years of combat training followed by months of instruction and fire simulation, and his career came down to this. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, meet Ryan Magee, the official babysitter for the Silver Springs Fire Department. Ryan fought not to scowl as he hefted the next young tike into the jump seat of Engine 1. He didn't want to scare the kid. Truth was, he loved children. As engineer, he'd known the job of providing fire truck rides to the children who showed at today's open house would fall to him, and he hadn't minded so much. But then he got a taste of the action. He felt the adrenaline pump through his veins again—a long ago sensation almost forgotten that was both heated and chilled, arousing and consuming. Yeah, it had only been a small taste, a controlled taste, a mere appetizer that, rather than satisfy, made him ready to dine. Shelving that desire wasn't so easy any more. He was tired of playing it safe with his body, tired of sitting on the sidelines watching everyone else have the fun. He wanted back in the action and not just for a moment, not just for a monitored demonstration. He wanted it back for good. He wanted his life back. He would never be a SEAL again. He'd faced that fact long ago. But he could make this new life he'd built, if not as stimulating, at least as satisfactory and rewarding. He wondered though as he strapped the young boy into the jump seat, his mouth moving on auto pilot with the instructions and explanations of all the belts and clips, if his old life and his new weren't about to make a head on collision. As he backed his body out of the engine cabin and stood to his full height outside the door, he scanned the crowds scattered both inside the station bays and outside on the grounds. He lost sight of Lara Hampton during the car fire demo. He couldn't see her apparent companion, Michael Cosmos, either. The presence of the DEA agent wasn't all that mysterious or


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odd in itself but coupled with that of Lara Hampton, it raised quite an alarm. Why was she here, in Silver Springs? What business did she have with the local branch of the DEA? Ryan had heard rumors that Lara had set out on a campaign of her own against overseas drug runners and dealers. Did that have anything to do with why she was in Silver Springs now? Did she know he was in Silver Springs? He'd been in complete turnouts from his Nomax hood and helmet down to the heavy, fire retardant boots when doing the fire demo. It hadn't been needed really. He could have just as easily put out such a simple fire wearing his bunker pants and uniform T-shirt, no face protection necessary. All the costume and show had been for the crowd. No way would she have recognized him. Hell, he couldn't be sure she would even recognize him after all this time? He spotted a flash of blond out of the corner of his eye just as he felt a small presence at his side. Bailey Lamont had definitely been wrong because exhibit number two of today's hot, shapely blondes tossed him a smile over her shoulder that nearly had him melting in his boots. Ryan started to drool and dammed near whimpered when the blonde joined a tall, lanky guy at the refreshment table set up just outside the bay doors of the station house. Wouldn't you know it? Bailey Lamont had been half right. She'd said single, hot shapely blondes—single being the operative word. Still, it never hurt a man to look, and he did for several more long, lustinspiring heartbeats. "Her shorts are too short." Ryan's gaze slid down the blonde's backside and settled on the sweet half moons of her butt cheeks that her pale blue running shorts failed to cover. The sight made his mouth water, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "No way man. Those shorts are just right. And did you see the rack on that babe? Geezus, she could—" Ryan cut himself off in the nick of time. He could all but hear the breaks on his conversation train grind to a halt as he slowly turned his head, then angled his face down. Timmy Walker stood at his side, looking up at him with an array of questions in his expressive young eyes. "She could what?" the boy voiced the first of the questions Ryan so didn't want to answer. Rival Dolly Parton, he'd been about to say. Though it probably would have been all right because the kid was too young to know who Dolly

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Parton was anyway. Still, the kid couldn't stop at one question. He had to make it worse. "What's a rack? Do you mean her boobs?" Ryan groaned inwardly. Yeah, he simply hadn't meant to say it to a nine year old. Now, how to get out of this one? "Where's the captain?" he asked quickly. When unsure and caught on a rock, go with survival instinct number one. Distract the kid and put him off on someone else. "Aren't you supposed to stay with him or Mrs. Wolcott?" "Veronica let's me call her by her first name. She says calling her Mrs. Wolcott makes her feel old. She's helping out at the balloon booth," Timmy told him. "She's learning to make poodles out of blown up balloons or something." He rolled his eyes as if to say girls can be so silly. "Dean sent me over here to you." Great, Ryan thought with a resigned sigh. So much for impressing the captain with his earlier show of bravery in action. The man obviously still thought him capable of little more than truck and baby-sitting. "My mom says using words like rack and tits to describe a woman is disrespectful. It makes them feel like a piece of meat." Your mom should know. Ryan nearly said the words but caught himself in the nick. "You really think she's hot?" Timmy asked, and looked at the blonde with unabashed interest. Ryan lifted a brow. "Wouldn't calling a woman hot be considered disrespectful too? I mean, isn't it even a bit worse than rack or tits since you are referring to the woman as a whole by calling her hot and not simply a specific body part?" The boy shrugged, but his gaze remained on the blonde. "I don't know. Maybe. I guess. Boys at school always talk about girls being hot. You know, the older boys. I'll have to ask my mom, see what she says." He shot a quick glance up at Ryan then pointedly nodded at the blonde once more. "So you think she's hot?" he asked again. The kid seemed determined to get an answer so Ryan crossed his arms and studied the blonde for a brief second. She stood talking wildly with her lanky companion. At closer examination maybe she wasn't quite as hot as she looked when he first spotted her. Her tits and ass seemed to be her best attributes. Not that he would tell Timmy that.


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"Yeah, she's pretty hot. She has a great smile. Nice a—uh, butt too. A bit on the skinny side for my taste though." "You like fat women?" Timmy wrinkled his nose and shot him an "eww" face. Ryan had to laugh. "No, I just…" Preferred a woman he didn't have to worry about snapping in two when he put his arms around her or crushing when he climbed on top of her. "I like women who are more evenly proportioned. And her hair is a bit too short." "Her hair looks like a boy's. Why do women cut their hair like a boy's?" Ryan shrugged. "That's a question that has plagued man for centuries, son. Personally, I like a woman with long hair." "Like Veronica's?" Timmy pointed just inside the bay doors of the station where Veronica Wolcott stood behind a table twisting a balloon into something resembling a poodle. Today, the captain's wife was dressed in a pair of shorts not much longer than the other blonde's with a halter top that showed off her belly button ring, her long blond hair left down to flow wild and free. "Yeah," Ryan nodded slowly. "But I prefer brunettes. You know, dark hair, brown?" "Like Bailey's? She has brown hair. It's long too when she wears it down." Ryan started to agree when an entirely new vision stepped into his line of sight. Though she was too far away to get a really good look, he caught enough detail to make his blood run hot. Long brown hair led to a trim waist, hips made for a man's easy grip and legs that seemed to go on for miles. She wore a simple, snug fitting pullover tucked into a pair of denim shorts that weren't too short or too tight, and tennis shoes. Compared to half the other women he'd seen today, this vision was almost dressed like a nun, and yet she managed to make his blood pressure soar even as an oddly familiar recognition nagged at his gut. And she was headed right for them. "You want an example of a hot woman, son?" Ryan asked softly as he uncrossed his arms and stood straighter. "That's a hot woman." "Where? You mean her?" Timmy grabbed one of Ryan's hands in his even as he covered his mouth with his other hand and began to laugh. "Dude, that's my mom."

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**** Bailey Lamont wove her way through the scattered crowd of men, women and children to the table set out back where she and the lieutenant would be doing fire extinguisher demonstrations in a few short minutes. He was already there. Lieutenant Tripp Barrett, leaning against the edge of the table with his arms folded over his chest, his feet crossed at the ankles, looking like the centerfold spread for September in this year's fire department calendar. No doubt about it, if the Silver Springs Fire Department ever decided to do a fund raising calendar they would sell hundreds as long as that man occupied at least one of the twelve months. He smiled at her as she approached, a slow, lazy grin that transformed his hard, angular face into a pure Kodak snap shot straight from her most favorite wet dream. That smile, even that pose, brought a morning well over six months ago rushing back to the forefront of her memory with crystal clarity. Not that the memory ever sunk to the recesses of her mind for long. No, waking up to find this man half dressed and in her kitchen was a moment that would never be easily forgotten. Just like the kiss they'd shared. Bailey's gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest of seconds as she set the ABC fire extinguisher in her hand on the ground behind the table. Averting her gaze, she wrestled her thoughts away from the dangerous path they wanted to take. Tripp's smile faltered a little as heat rose in his grayish blue eyes, and she knew she hadn't been quick enough at diverting those thoughts. He'd seen them, and he knew exactly where her mind had gone, exactly what she'd been thinking. Dammit. "We have about ten minutes before the crowd will start to gather around," Tripp told her. He turned his upper body slightly, doing a quick scan of the people, some simply walking by, others hanging at different demonstration tables or at the activity course set up for the kids. "Should we help out at one of the other tables?" Bailey looked around too, at the information tables lined with pamphlets, educational toys and other take home goodies just inside the station bay. A firefighter or spouse manned each table and none appeared to need help.


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Ryan Magee looked to be the only one of her co-workers who was sweating right now. No doubt because the big, bad ex-Navy SEAL was surrounded by eager children wanting to go for a fire truck ride. She wondered for a moment how much time the over-grown, self-proclaimed boy toy actually ever spent with children before now. Judging from the quick flashes of terror she'd spotted on his face a few times, she guessed not much. It would have actually been funny, watching Ryan Magee as he sweated it out over a few children, if she hadn't been so suddenly uncomfortable herself. She even felt the trickles of sweat as they slid down the center of her back. She was alone with Tripp Barrett. Well, as alone as two people could get when positioned amidst several dozen other people who weren't paying them the least bit of attention. She didn't want to be alone with him. Okay, not true. She so did want to be alone with him and that was precisely the reason she didn't want to be alone with him. More, she didn't want to have the conversation she knew was coming, the one she could see in his eyes. "We could." He nodded once and pushed himself off the table. He moved closer to her and dropped his voice several full octaves until no one would be able to hear him but her. "Or you can use that time to tell me where you were yesterday." "I don't suppose I can pick what's behind door number three instead?" The question earned her an exasperated look and a low growl from the lieutenant. "I guess not. Okay, okay, I had some things to do yesterday, some errands to run. That's all." She shrugged and turned her back on him, pretended to busy herself by straightening the fire extinguisher pamphlets that were laid out on the table. "Errands, huh? You seem to be running an awful lot of errands on your day off lately." Bailey didn't look at him for fear that she would give herself away, that he would see the turmoil inside her through her eyes. He was so good at reading her, dammit, and she…. Well no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to hide anything from him when she looked him in the eyes. She had things to hide from him now. Things he didn't need to know about, didn't need to see. Not yet. Not until she was ready. She kept her eyes on the table, shrugged again, and when she spoke, she struggled to sound nonchalant. "I've been busy lately, Lieutenant."

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"It isn't going to work, Bailey." Tripp moved even closer to her, lowered his voice more, and her heart almost stopped in her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said softly, and that much wasn't a lie. At that moment, with him standing so impossibly close, with him smelling so good—God, did he really have to smell so good?—she honestly didn't know what he was talking about. She lost all train of thought. All, that was, except for the ones that involved this man, sweaty flesh and soft moans of pleasure. "You're trying to keep us on some sort of co-worker level today. Keeping it all about business, being distant, treating me like your superior." "You are my superior." She looked at him then without thinking, and she immediately wished she hadn't because the look in his eyes…. Oh man, she didn't want to think about what that look in his eyes meant. She hated to see the aggravation, the frustration, the pain. Hated more knowing she was responsible for putting it there. And she didn't want to see the desire, the need, the want that swam so deeply in his grayish blue eyes almost all of the time now. She needed to look away. She had to look away. But she couldn't. She was trapped now, by those eyes, by this man just as she'd been for so many months. "I'm your friend, Bailey." He didn't touch her when he said that. He didn't have to. His words, the soft, lazy Texas drawl that delivered them, drifted over her, brushed her flesh like the gentlest of caresses and made her insides explode with a myriad of sensations she couldn't and didn't want to identify right now. "At least I'm trying to be your friend. If you would only let me." Friend. He was trying to be her friend. That's what she told him she wanted, how she told him it had to be. They couldn't be anything more. Despite the kiss—the incredible, soul consuming kiss—they'd shared outside the Paradise Lounge more than six months ago, despite the magnetic pull between them, they had to keep their relationship on a completely platonic and professional level. They had been doing it too, making this friend thing work. They would do it as long as she didn't allow herself to think about him, or look at him, or remember…. God, but she couldn't stop remembering! She couldn't stop wanting. And she knew he wanted too. She knew he really hadn't forgotten that kiss, that night any more than she had. This friend thing between them,


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it was all a game. Well, not a game precisely. They were friends. But one word, one single word from her and their relationship would reach the temperature of molten lava in one point two seconds. She just couldn't do it, couldn't say it. Not yet. Not with so many things left to work through. And she couldn't forget all the things she stood to loose. Despite his declaration of friendship, Tripp Barrett was, first and foremost, her superior. He was her Lieutenant and, while fraternizing wasn't exactly outlawed in the department, it was still a very bad career move for her. She didn't want to be the female firefighter that the lieutenant was screwing. She didn't want any promotions she might earn to be put off on the fact that she was sleeping with him. And what if something happened between them? God, what if an intimate relationship between them didn't work? Talk about putting tension in the work place. "We are friends, Tripp." There. She called him Tripp instead of lieutenant. She was the only one who did that besides the captain, and even he did it rarely. The men called him L.T. or Barrett. Even away from the department. There was simply something about him that seemed to demand the respect. "Good." He nodded. "That's good. Then we should be able to talk about things that friends talk about. Like, oh, say, what you did on your day off." The man was a freaking pit bull! Bailey knew he wouldn't let up until he got a much clearer answer from her, the answer he looked for, the truth. Problem was, she wasn't ready to tell him the truth…at least, not the whole truth. "I picked up my dry cleaning around ten in the morning. At eleventhirty I went to the grocery. I spent about an hour drooling over all the high calorie donuts and cakes in the bakery section, moved on to the fruits and veggies and left. I went back home, put away the groceries and walked along the path through the woods to the beach where I stayed for most of the afternoon. In the evening, I left again to return some movies I rented to the video store then I went back home and spent the rest of the night putting together a puzzle. I was in bed by ten-forty-five." Alone, she nearly added, and thinking of you. Dying to be with you, wishing you were there by my side. "And between ten and eleven-thirty…" he prompted.

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It figured he would zone in on the hour and a half for which she didn't give him a precise blow by blow. "It's been a while since I've been to a dry cleaning establishment but, the last time I checked, there wasn't much in one to occupy a usually active woman for an hour and a half." Bailey made a point of looking at her wristwatch. Speaking of time, they had only four minutes before they were set to begin the fire extinguisher demonstrations. A few people had already starting to wander toward the table. "We should get ready," she told him and turned to be sure the metal trash can and stove they would use in the demonstration were ready to be set on fire. Tripp caught her arm, just a gentle grasp but tight enough to make her stop, make her look at him. She met his eyes only briefly then fixed her gaze on a point to the right of his face. "You did something in that hour and a half that you don't want to tell me about." Even though he was whispering now, his voice sounded more hurt than accusing. "You've been doing this a lot lately, hiding from me on your days off." "I do have a life, Tripp." She yanked her arm from his grasp, and he let her. If he'd wanted to, he could have held her there. She was strong for a woman but his strength overpowered hers by a ton. "And I don't have to report to you every waking moment." "No. No, you don't Bailey. But I worry about you. I know the nightmares haven't stopped. I know even with all of the help Jackson and I have been giving you, you are still battling the fear every day and, God, definitely every night." Her claustrophobia. It was always about her dammed claustrophobia. "I'm handling it. I haven't freaked out in a long time. Not since the day in the hotel elevator. And even then, I didn't freak out. I've learned to deal with it. You know that." "And the nightmares, is that what you plan to do about them, learn to deal with them? That may work for battling your fear of close spaces, Bailey, but it won't work for the nightmares. The nightmares wake you from a dead sleep sweating and panting and scared out of your mind. They keep you awake, Bailey."


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"Don't you think I know that?" Bailey hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm the one who spends most of her life awake. I'm the one who hasn't slept well since—" Since the night she'd fallen asleep in his arms on her sofa. She bit off the words. No way would she admit to that right now. "Did you finally talk with your parents? Is that it? Is that what you were doing in that hour and a half?" Bailey shook her head. No. She hadn't been talking with her parents. She hadn't been confessing that she believed something in her childhood was causing these nightmares, something that she couldn't remember, something she had possibly blocked. She hadn't been interrogating them, wanting to know what it could be, what could have happened to her that was so traumatic as to cause her fear of the dark, of enclosed spaces, to cause such horrific nightmares. Because she couldn't face her parents with all those questions. She simply couldn't believe it was anything they did or kept from her that could be the cause of her problems now. Her parents loved her. They took care of her and always, always kept her safe. They told her the truth. They didn't keep things from her, didn't lie when she asked them about things. So how could there be anything in her childhood that wasn't as picture perfect as she remembered? "Bailey, you have to talk to them," Tripp said on a sigh, and she knew he was right. Despite her disbelief they could be hiding anything from her, she was hiding something from them. For no other reason than that, she had to talk to them. She needed to tell them because she didn't hide things from them either. Except her claustrophobia and the nightmares, somehow she'd managed to hide those from her parents all of her life. She was also hiding things from Tripp. For quite possibly the first time, he hadn't yet figured out exactly what was going on with her, what she was hiding. Probably because she had so much going on that it was all getting jumbled in her mind. She'd been at the psychiatrist's office, a woman named Diane Moss. Jackson, firefighter Jason Graham's twin brother and FBI agent and friend, had been encouraging her to start seeing a shrink. He too suffered from claustrophobia but he'd overcome his fears, or at least, learned to be a fully functional FBI agent around them. But Jackson's nights weren't plagued by the nightmares. He didn't awake gasping for breath, drenched in sweat with little to no memory of what caused him to rouse in the first place.

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Like Tripp, Jackson believed her nightmares stemmed from something tragic in her childhood and, though she'd only spent two sessions with Dr. Moss so far, the psychiatrist seemed to be leaning toward the same opinion. All three of them were encouraging her to confront her parents. Bailey just wasn't ready to do that. Dr. Moss even suggested hypnosis. Bailey knew she wasn't ready for that one. "I know and I will." She finally allowed herself to look at him again, to meet his gaze, and the concern she saw there made her throat tight. He cared. He really cared, as both a friend and someone more, someone so much more if she would only let him be. And she knew, not only did she have to face her fears and have this talk with her parents, but she had to talk to the captain too. She had to fix things so she and this man could be together.


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Chapter 3 "This is Gail Witherspoon with a News Channel Five special weather report." Ryan stopped in the act of pulling open the sliding glass door leading to the captain's patio to watch the television. On the screen, a shapely body stepped in front of a projected radar of the Southeastern states and the Gulf of Mexico. Gail Witherspoon was pretty snazzy for a meteorologist but the radar behind her captured his full attention. "As of the eleven o'clock bulletin from the National Hurricane Service this Sunday morning, the entire Gulf Coast region is officially under a hurricane watch. Remember, a watch means we should be prepared for the possibility Hurricane Emilio might hit our area. This is not a warning but, I have to tell you, if Hurricane Emilio continues on his current track, we may be looking at this watch being bumped up to a warning, possibly as soon as the three o'clock advisory. The latest coordinates for Hurricane Emilio put it at—" Ryan pulled open the slider and slipped out, quickly closing it before letting out too much of the air conditioning. The temperature was a whopping ninety-two degrees outside with the sun beaming down from a virtually cloudless blue sky. Hard to believe there was a monster of a hurricane spinning around over the Gulf waters about to bear down on their heads. "National Hurricane Center has just put us under a hurricane watch," he informed the captain as he handed the man a beer he'd taken from the fridge inside. Dean took the chilled bottle with a nod of thanks, twisted off the cap, and drank a long swig before he set the bottle on the rack beside the barbeque grill. "Veronica hear that?"

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"I don't know." Ryan shrugged and settled into one of the lawn chairs on the patio. "I didn't see her in the kitchen. She's upstairs with Timmy, I think." "Probably giving him a hair cut." Dean laughed. "The woman never ceases to amaze me with the things she's good at." "Captain, I don't need to know—" Ryan began and Dean only laughed harder. "I'm not talking about anything personal, Magee, though I have to tell you the woman never ceases to blow my mind in that department either. I mean, stuff like cutting a kid's hair, sewing, domestic stuff. A man wouldn't think by looking at her she would be good at any of that junk. But Veronica…." He shook his head, laughed again. "She is." "A woman of many talents," Ryan agreed and took a swig from his own beer. If he were in the market for a wife, he might be jealous of what the captain had with Veronica. Vivacious, intelligent and pretty, the woman had turned the town on its ear when she'd returned a little over a year ago. She'd opened a shop. A sex shop, he mused. Romantic Illusions had been the buzz of the city for months. On top of snagging her childhood crush, he thought as he studied Dean. Yeah, he wouldn't mind being snagged by a woman like that. Perhaps in a few years. A very distant few years. "She's really great with Timmy too. She's going to make a great mom. Now if I can just convince her it's time to start having children." "You want kids?" Ryan didn't know why that fact surprised him but it did. He supposed it was the next step. A man got married and started a family. Wasn't that how it worked? Still, he simply never thought of the captain or Veronica as the type of couple to have children. Maybe because of the whole sex shop thing, he decided even though he knew that, too, was stupid. "Sure." Dean turned the pieces of chicken and ribs over on the grill and closed the lid. He settled down in the lawn chair opposite Ryan. "Don't you someday?" Yeah, he supposed he did. Eventually. One day way in the future when he decided to settle down. Maybe the house with the white picket fence and the wife with the two point five kids and a mini van wouldn't be such a bad idea. Someday. "What about your job?" Ryan asked. He'd never spoken so personally with the captain before but since the man seemed open to


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conversation, there were a few things Ryan wanted to know. Like whether or not there was any truth to the rumor that Dean might be leaving B shift to take over the position of Battalion Chief for the district. Dean shrugged, sipped his own beer, then pushed himself out of the lounge chair to lift the lid on the barbeque pit. "I don't see any reason I can't be both a father and a firefighter. Men across the country do it all the time." Ryan thought of Timmy upstairs now with Veronica. From what he'd seen, the nine-year-old spent at least half his time out of school with the captain and his wife. "I guess not. I mean, you're already playing the father role to one kid." Dean shot him a quick, questioning glance as he flipped a piece of chicken and he clarified. "Timmy. That boy spends more time over here then he does at home. You might as well adopt the kid. Make it official." Lord knows the kid would probably be happier that way. Dean laughed, shook his head. "I don't think Tina would go for that, and I know Timmy wouldn't. He enjoys his time here with Veronica and me but, at heart, he's a momma's boy. Don't tell him I called him that though. He'd have my hide." He shot Ryan a conspiratorial wink. Ryan watched the captain, admiration mixing with a long ago buried feeling of a young boy left alone. He understood Timmy's love for his mother, remembered all too well how deeply such a love could run even when said love wasn't returned. He also remembered the wanting, the wishing for someone to be there for him, for someone like the captain to offer him the companionship and parental guidance he needed that his own parents never gave. "Timmy is lucky to have you." He didn't realize he made the statement aloud until Dean looked at him again, surprise swirling with pride in his eyes. "Thanks, but I think I'm the lucky one. He's a great kid, you know? I'm glad Tina feels comfortable enough to let him spend time over here. It works out well for everyone." Timmy was a great kid. In the short time Ryan spent with him, he'd figured out that much. No doubt, the captain's influence over the last three years had a lot to do with it. "Does he spend every weekend with you these days?" It was none of his business, and yet he couldn't keep from asking. The boy spent much of yesterday at the fire department with Dean and

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Veronica. Tina had showed up in the late afternoon, but still… Now he was back at the captain's house before noon on a Sunday morning. "Tina's pulling an extra shift this morning, a couple of hours for the breakfast rush," Dean told him. And wasn't that strange? Since when did the Golden Coral Seafood Restaurant start serving breakfast? Ryan didn't ask, though the question burned a hole in his tongue. Where was she? Did the captain really believe she was at work? Surely not. Dean was anything but stupid. "She should be here within the hour," the captain continued as he pulled the chicken and ribs off the grill, loaded it again with hot dogs and hamburgers. "I expect she will get here just in time to eat. Which is why I asked you to stop by a bit early." Ryan sat up straighter in his chair. Though Dean's tone remained conversational, the air seemed to change around them. A seriousness wove between them and gave him the indication the captain now intended to talk business. "Is something wrong, sir?" Dean turned from the grill, a rye smile quirking his lips. "I've told you before not to sir me, Magee. I'm only a couple of years older than you, and we're the fire department not the military." "What can I say?" Ryan shrugged but returned the other man's grin. "Old habits die hard." "Yes." Dean nodded in agreement. He closed the grill, leaving the new batch of food to slowly cook but, instead of returning to the vacant lounge chair, he chose to lean against the corner post of the patio. "You're absolutely right. Old habits do die hard. Just like the old habit of needing to be in the center of the action, I suppose." This was about yesterday, Ryan realized. He'd waited for it, expecting the captain to say something about his taking over the car fire demo at the open house. He'd waited…and he'd continued to wait. But Dean didn't mention it. It wasn't until they were leaving the station after the cleanup that the captain said anything at all, and even then he simply gave him a pat on the back, said a bolstering, "Good job," and invited him to today's cookout. Now, it appeared his wait was over. "You're talking about yesterday," Ryan said when Dean simply stood there staring down at him. "I know I should have cleared it with you or the lieutenant first but…." Ryan shrugged again. "In truth, I didn't know I was


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going to do it until I hopped out of the truck. I figured since it was just a demonstration, you know, not a real call, since Jason agreed to the swap that…." "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Ryan." Dean stopped him. "I'm not angry with you. Hell, you impressed the shit out of me yesterday, if you want to know the truth." He wasn't angry with him. Ryan expelled a breath. It seemed so stupid, this sudden rush of relief moving through him, that he found himself gaping at the captain for a good two or three seconds before he recovered. "Thank you si—uh—Captain." "Not only did you and Bailey put on a good demonstration for the crowd yesterday, but you also put on a good show of working together as a team. I know you realize how important that is." "Absolutely." "We aren't a SEAL team but we work just as closely together. We depend on each other. We put our lives in our fellow team member's hands." Dean paused, sipped his beer and eyed Ryan for several seconds as if waiting for him to speak. Ryan said nothing. He had an idea where the captain was going with this but he didn't want to jump the gun. "I asked you to come over today because I wanted to talk to you away from the department, away from the distractions and the rest of the crew. When you signed on, you came on as an engineer. Your sole responsibility is that Engine. Driving, operating and staying with that truck on every call. I know you've gotten away from that a time or two. The incident with the stalled elevator at the hotel being one of them." "I didn't do anything but provide a little extra muscle for pulling Timmy and the women up through the shaft," Ryan said. It had been Bailey who went down the darkened elevator shaft, a rope around her waist and a harness to pull the trapped victims free. "From what I heard, that still put a large amount of strain on that knee of yours." Ryan had remained with the lieutenant planted securely in the hallway of the hotel holding the opposite end of the rope. The men used their combined strength to lower Lamont down then pull her and her passengers up again. And yeah, he supposed the stance he took to give himself the right

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leverage he needed to fully support Lamont's weight on the rope had been a strain on his knee. "It did," he slowly nodded his agreement. Strange but he hadn't thought about it that way until now. "I've been watching you, Ryan. I've known from the start you wouldn't be happy remaining on the sidelines, so to speak, once your knee healed enough that you could do more. You're too much of an action junky." Ryan had to laugh at that. The captain was so right. "Takes one to know one?" "Yeah. I'm a bit of an action junky myself," Dean admitted. "What I want to know is how much can you handle? You obviously feel you've healed enough to take on more than you have in the past, but how much more? How much are you ready for?" "As much as you're willing to give me," Ryan said quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly, he realized and went on. "I'm not one hundred percent, but I'm close…possibly even as close as ninety-eight percent. Honestly, I won't know, I can't know until I push it a bit more." He hesitated, shook his head. "My job as engineer is fine but…." "The city council has hired a new probie," Dean informed Ryan with what sounded like a trace of derision in his voice. It was not a sound Ryan commonly heard from the captain, and it surprised him. Obviously there was something about this new guy the captain didn't like. Which was also surprising since Dean typically liked and got along with everybody. "He's a young guy, mid-twenties, straight out of college," Dean continued. "He graduated from some Ivy League school—Harvard, Princeton, Rich-kids-r-us, hell, I don't know—then proceeded to get his basic training at some Votech school before applying to the department." "He's book smart," Ryan interjected. He understood now the captain's attitude toward the guy. Guys like this came on a fire department thinking they knew everything there was to know about fighting fires because they read it in some book, not because they learned it first hand. Try to teach them anything first hand and most became all self-righteous and started tossing degrees in your face. "Seems that way, and I'm sorry, Ryan, I shouldn't be sounding so down on the guy. I haven't even met him yet."


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"But he fits the type." "Yeah, but so does Max Jasper." "Max might be an Ivy League brainiac but he's also a kick-ass firefighter, an even better HAZMAT engineer, and the king of mad scientists." "All redeeming qualities to overlook the high education, right?" the captain grinned. Ryan shrugged. "Whatever works. I assume since you're telling me about this guy he's being assigned to B shift." Dean nodded. "That's not all though, I'm afraid. He's centered his time at the academy on a specialty of sorts in the fire service. He's trained almost solely to be an engineer." Ryan lifted a brow at that, the only reaction he let show. Inside though, a whirlwind of shit kicked up. What was the captain telling him? Did he intend to give this frat boy Ryan's job? If so, what would happen to Ryan? Going though the academy with a total focus on one single position with the fire service wasn't unheard of, but it was uncommon. And it wasn't as though Ryan was the only engineer on B shift. The fact was, all the engineer slots were filled. Yet this new guy, this Ivy League prep boy with all his college book smarts, had been hired for one. Which could only mean…. "You want to put him in charge of Engine 1," Ryan said slowly, watching the captain closely. The man had one hell of a poker face though. Ryan made a mental note to never play cards with this man. He would lose his freaking shirt! "I've considered it," Dean confessed with a small, almost imperceptible nod. He was watching Ryan as closely as Ryan eyed him. Ryan knew he wasn't quite as good at keeping his own reactions under a carefully bland mask, but he tried to at least appear unconcerned. "Then I guess I should be asking where does that leave me?" "It leaves you where ever you want to be." Dean angled his head, narrowed his eyes. "You don't actually think I'm considering replacing you with this guy?" He laughed, shook his head. "You do. That's exactly what you're thinking. Get real, Magee. Your place on B shift is solid." That stupid sense of relief washed over Ryan once more, and he swallowed, cleared his throat and hoped he didn't sound as coo-coo as he felt when he said, "That's good to know, Captain." But then that sense of

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relief turned to a dread so thick it tasted like bile in the back of his throat. If the captain didn't intend for him to leave B shift did that mean…. Ryan knew the district Battalion Chief, Chip Wrigley, still planned to retire in the coming new year. With his retirement, someone in the department would be moving up, someone in authority, someone like the captain. It was the chance Ryan waited for, the opportunity to ask the question that was continuing to burn the inside of his mouth. It was the opening to get the information he'd wondered about and yet he couldn't ask it. Suddenly he didn't want to know. "There will be some changes happening within the shift in the coming months, however. Possibly…probably some shifts in command," Dean continued, and Ryan heard the next board for the coffin that would bury the man's time as B shift's Captain being sawed into shape. "I'm not certain of the details, and I won't go into it anymore than I already have at this moment except to tell you that, if you want it, the position of lead nozzle man on Engine 1 is yours. Effective as soon as the new guy comes on board, that is." Adrenaline, rushed through Ryan at that news. No more being stuck at the truck operating buttons and switches while everyone else had the fun. He would be back in the action. Hoo-yah! The realization actually gave him a stiffy. "Of course, if you would prefer to retain your position as Engine Co. 1 engineer, the choice is yours. Some men would see this offer I've gave you as a sort of demotion. And engineer does out rank a firefighter, even the lead nozzle man." At the duh expression Ryan knew must be on his face, the captain laughed. "Yeah, I didn't figure you to be one of those guys. One more thing though, you may have overheard the lieutenant and I talking about the boat the department will be taking on provided the council can squeeze the money out of the budget." Ryan nodded. He'd caught portions of conversations about it in passing. "Should I assume the council has squeezed the funds?" He pushed himself out of the lounge chair, drained the last swig of his beer as he stood. "They have. I've been instructed to assign a team to man the boat in the event of a call, a small crew capable of responding should B shift be on duty at the time the boat is needed. With your record and your training in combat and water scenarios, it would be stupid of me to pick anyone else to head


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this team. That is of course, provided you want it and feel you can handle it." Did he want it? Hell yes, he wanted it! Could he handle it? Ryan shifted his weight to his right knee and felt no different than he had a mere half a second earlier when his weight had been evenly distributed on his feet. Yeah, he could handle it. He looked at the captain and tried not to smile too widely when he said, "I can handle it, and I want it." The captain returned his smile along with a nod. "Then it's yours." Hoo-yah! Ryan thought, as the captain turned his back on him to tend to the grill. **** Tina speared a potato wedge with her fork, let it dangle in her fingers over her plate as she pretended to listen to the byplay of conversation between Dean, Ryan and her son. Something about who was the better superhero: Wolverine, Spiderman, or Iron Man? "Wolverine's got my vote." Veronica leaned closer, waggled her eyebrows. "Dean's got a really wicked Wolverine tattoo." Tina laughed. "No way! Does he really?" "Top left shoulder. I can't believe you never noticed. All the guys on the department rag him about it. He isn't the only one either. Several of the guys have tattoos." Veronica sipped her iced tea, her eyes turning thoughtful. "I'm not sure about Ryan. Former military, you'd think he has one. I'll have to ask sometime." Tina looked at him across the table, her heart doing a slow somersault in her chest at the wide smile on his handsome face. A smile, she noted instantly, for her son. He was good with Timmy. She wouldn't have expected that. Too often, Ryan came across as cold, hard, obnoxious. At least he did to her. But to Timmy, he was warm, friendly, sweet. She wondered how Ryan would react to anyone calling him sweet and it made her lips twitch. He glanced up, caught her staring and the smile faded, his eyes going icy. Add another superhero to the list, she thought and looked away. Wasn't

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there one with frost vision powers? If so, Ryan could give the hero a run for his money. What had she done? She wanted to scream it. When he didn't know it was her, didn't recognize her, he looked at her with such heat and longing in his expression that it seared her to her toes. But when that recognition took hold, so did the hostility. "He thinks you're hot, mom," Timmy had told her yesterday when she'd arrived at the open house. "He told you that?" Even after their nearly nuclear encounter at the gas station that morning, she hadn't believed it. No way did Mr. Frost Vision find her hot. "Sure did," Timmy had nodded, his young blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "He said you're one hot woman." Apparently, Tina mused now, Ryan thought she was so hot she needed to be covered with ice. She hadn't interrogated Timmy any further, though she desperately wanted to know what else Ryan told him. What prompted him to confess his attraction to her? And if he did find her attractive, what was with the evil death glare? No, she didn't want to pressure her son for answers but she had no qualms going to the source himself. She waited until they finished lunch, until Dean and Veronica caught Timmy in a game of tag. When Ryan moved inside the apartment to get another beer, she intercepted him in the kitchen. "Could you pass me one of the coolers, please?" The kitchen was little more than a narrow aisle offering barely enough room to open the fridge without hitting the cabinets on the opposite side. Ryan was on one side of that open refrigerator now, one arm reached around the edge of the door still holding the handle. He was bent way over to peer inside at the contents, his short military style cut dark hair and the top of his left earlobe the only parts of him visible over the top of the door. He turned his head, angled it up at her question and with the combination of the cool air from the fridge and the glacier penetration of his gaze she was definitely a Popsicle now. "Aren't you driving?" he asked, his words muffled because he already turned his attention back to his perusal of the refrigerator contents. When he finally stood a half a second later, the fingers of his free hand were hooked around the necks of two bottles of beer.


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Tina glanced pointedly at those bottles then up into his eyes. "Aren't you?" "I'm a big guy. I can handle my alcohol." Tina nodded. "And because I weigh less than half of what you do, I can't? Never mind the fact that one of those coolers in there has only four percent alcohol as opposed to the…what? Ten, eleven percent found in one of those imported bottles of beer. Once again, in case your math is a bit off today, what I intend to consume will equal less than half of what you are about to drink." He lifted his hand, turning the beer bottles so he could read the label by the light of the still open refrigerator door. "Actually, this particular imported beer has only seven point nine percent." He shook his head as if wondering why he even bothered and frowned. "Four percent or not, that's enough to register on a breathalyzer test if you get stopped on your way home." "Well, Mr. Magee, I didn't know you cared." Tina stood on her tiptoes and reached over the door into the refrigerator, pulled out one of the coolers. "I don't." He let go of the door, let it slowly close on its own. "Not about you anyway. But I do care about that little boy out there. He shouldn't be riding in a car with a mother who has been drinking." Tina paused in the act of twisting off the cap of the cooler and stared at him, shock zigzagging its way through the confusion in her brain. "You actually think I would get drunk and drive with my child in the car?" she asked and didn't try to hide the incredulity in her tone. "I wouldn't put it past a woman like you. Now, if you will excuse me…." "A woman like me?" Tina narrowed her eyes even as the shock deepened. "And no I will not excuse you," she added when he tried to step around her. She might have been small, but he was a big man. No way could he squeeze past her in this tiny kitchen without her moving or without moving her himself. She didn't think him to be the type to use those large hands on a woman. She hoped she wasn't underestimating him. She stood her ground. "I want to know exactly what you meant by that remark. Women like me. Exactly what kind of woman do you think I am?" Something in him snapped. She saw it as clearly as she was standing there. His dark chocolate eyes turned midnight black, and the muscle in his

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wide jaw began to jump. She waited for him to shout at her, to bite her head off. He looked that angry. Instead, he stepped closer, until he was invading her personal space, until she could smell the sweet masculine scent of his cologne. He wore Drakkar. Wouldn't you know it, her favorite cologne? He had a good five inches on her, and when he glared down at her she felt as though he could see inside her all the way to her toes. "You're the type of woman who does what she pleases with little regard for anyone, including her son," he told her in a voice that was quiet, harsh, frozen. He didn't yell, and his words were all the more effective because of it. They stung, sliced, and even though they weren't true, she felt them like an ax to her heart, to her very soul. "You're the type of woman who has no business having a kid. You leave him with anyone you can put him off on while you're out doing God only knows what with Jesus knows who." "You son-of-a-bitch." Tina wanted to scream it at him but instead it came out as little more than a whisper. Fury made her throat tight even as her eyes filled with tears. She ruthlessly blinked them back. No way would she give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing how deeply his words hurt her. "How dare you judge me? You don't even know me!" "No, I don't know you, and I don't—" "You want to know where I was this morning?" Tina bulldozed over him. He didn't deserve an explanation, and it pissed her off more that she felt the need to give him one, but dammit where did the man get off thinking so poorly of her? "You want to know why Timmy was here with Dean and Veronica on a Sunday morning? I was at work, you bastard. I work four mornings a week, usually Monday through Thursday, at the Sparkling Waters Hotel doing maid service. This morning I picked up an extra shift because one of my co-workers called in sick and I needed the extra money. Want to know why I needed the extra money, hot shot? Because Timmy's baseball team has a trip coming up, a celebration for having such a good season, and I'll be dammed if my son is going to miss out on that trip simply because the money for it wasn't in my budget!" "Timmy told me yesterday you work at the Golden Coral not at the Sparkling Waters Hotel." For the first time since she cornered him in this kitchen, Tina thought she saw a flash of uncertainty in his dark chocolate eyes. But no, she must


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have imagined it because those eyes continued to bore down at her with all of the intensity of a razor sharp dagger. "I do work at the Golden Coral. My usual schedule is from ten-thirty to four-thirty five days a week though I do often work past four-thirty one or two of those days." "You expect me to believe you work two jobs? That that's why Timmy is so often left with sitters or the captain and his wife instead of at home with you where he belongs?" Was it possible he was forcing himself to stay mad at her now? As Tina glared up at him, her own anger at his disbelief and accusations causing a red haze around the edges of her vision, she had to wonder. Something about the way his tone changed ever so slightly, the way she would almost swear she saw that flash of uncertainty again, made it seem as though he were truly working now to stay mad at her. "I don't give a rat's ass what you believe." Like him, instead of shouting and drawing attention to their little confrontation—the last thing she wanted was for Timmy to hear her arguing with this man—she kept her voice low but no less powerful or seething. "Actually, I don't work two jobs. I work three. I also pull a couple of shifts a few days a week at Veronica's shop." He snorted at that. "What does she pay you for that? Sexy lingerie and sex toys so you can use them on your customers when you're supposed to be working at the Sparkling Waters Hotel?" Tina slapped him. She didn't think about it, didn't even know she was going to do it until the palm of her hand connected with his cheek. Hard. She slapped him so hard her hand stung, and she thought it very possible she might have busted a blood vessel or two in her fingers where her rings pinched the skin. Still, as her eyes filled with tears, she reared back to slap him again. This time though, he caught her wrist just before her hand made contact. His tanned cheek was red, and the look in his eyes when he gazed down at her was one she couldn't put a name to. That's when he kissed her. She saw it coming, saw his gaze drop to her mouth, saw his face inch its way to hers as he leaned in. She could have stopped it. Even with his continued firm grip on her wrist and the bottle in her other hand, she could have stopped him from kissing her. Maybe. Possibly. Probably. If her brain hadn't short circuited the moment his long fingers wrapped around her tiny wrist and everything in his eyes changed.

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Then his lips were on hers, and she didn't want to stop him because, oh God, this was exactly what she really wanted from this man. This was the encounter from her dreams. Yet, it wasn't. In her imaginings, he kissed her tenderly. He began with a featherlike brush of his lips to hers then he would gently coax her lips to part by softly licking his way into her mouth. In her fantasies, the kiss they shared was a sweet exchange of passion. Reality however was far different than any kiss she'd ever conjured. He crushed his mouth to hers, pushing his tongue between her lips without waiting for any hint of invitation. The hand in which he still held the beers snaked around her waist, and he yanked her against him even as he angled his head to kiss her more deeply. Kiss? No, he didn't just kiss her. He inhaled her, consumed her, possessed her, and she let him. Pressed against his body as rigid and hard and hot as she always imagined it would be with his mouth glued to hers. She did nothing to try to stop him. If anything, she felt certain her low throaty moan and light graze of her knuckles down his side gave him encouragement, a full speed ahead type of okay signal. Because the last thing she wanted was for him to stop. She could hardly believe it was happening. No doubt about it Dorothy, she'd been transported from Kansas and landed directly in the middle of Oz.


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Chapter 4 Bailey Lamont felt like an intruder and for good reason, she supposed. She may have grown up in this house, but she hadn't lived inside its walls for well over a decade. She let herself in with her own key, went into the kitchen for a can of diet soda, even turned on the television in the sitting room to the Weather Channel, and stood by her father's recliner for several long moments watching the latest reports on Hurricane Emilio. Well, not the latest reports, she realized with a quick glance at the digital time on the cable box. The next advisory would be coming across at three o'clock. And that one was expected to be the one that put everyone on the Gulf Coast on high alert. She shot a look at the clock again. Two forty-seven. She could wait, settle down in her father's overstuffed comfy recliner, and chill for the next thirteen minutes. If the three o'clock bulletin revealed what she expected, this might be the last chance she got to chill for who knew how long. With a coast-wide high alert would come a call into the station, a mandatory demand for personnel. All emergency services would be called in to assist in implementing the area's disaster plans and aide in the beginnings of the evacuations. They would start with the low-lying areas of the city, the ones closest to the water, the ones in B shift station's district. Once that started, she doubted she would get even the minutest chance to relax until the storm hit. But, in truth, she knew allowing herself to relax even for these few minutes was only delaying the inevitable. She forced herself to come here after all, forced herself not to wait until her parents returned from their trip to Vancouver where her father was giving a lecture on the effects of autism in a household on Monday, followed by another in Phoenix on Wednesday. All because Tripp was right—and her shrink and Jackson—she had to stop procrastinating and find out what she could about the past she couldn't remember.

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Heart pounding, she made herself walk out of the sitting room and down the narrow hall to the small bedroom her father had incorporated as his office so many years ago. Every ounce of her being wanted to wait. She wanted to talk with her parents, ask them the questions she was afraid to have answered. Why was she so afraid? Because she woke up this morning with a dire premonition that her parents knew something, and it frightened the hell out of her. Somewhere deep down she knew something dreadful happened so long ago and a part of her, a very small part she'd ignored for so long, believed her parents had hidden whatever happened from her. Which was exactly why she decided not to wait. She stepped through the doorway of her father's office, and stopped. What did she expect to find in here? Her father was a psychologist, a board certified behavioral analyst who specialized in his work with autistic children and their families. He retired, as much as her energetic father would ever retire at least, five years ago, closing his office in town and limiting his work to only a few lectures at given conferences throughout the year. With the close of his office, he brought all of his files here. But she wouldn't find anything of herself in those files. Problems, she definitely had but autism wasn't and had never been one of them. Of that much, she was certain. Still, her father was anal retentive when it came to files. He kept everything from love letters he wrote to her mother when he was courting her to the vet bills when Bailey's miniature Chihuahua broke its leg jumping over the steps outside the back door when it needed to go potty. She knew he kept every one of her report cards in school, receipts from every doctor visit she ever had and newspaper clippings of every time she received public recognition for anything in her life. It stood to reason if any documented proof could be found as to why she suffered from nightmares and claustrophobia, it would be in her father's files. Bailey moved to the five-drawer filing cabinet reserved for family related files in the far corner of the room. Labels neatly cut, printed and stuck inside the square opening in the front center of each drawer told her, not exactly what she was likely to find inside, but in what decade it had been put there. The top drawer fell into the most recent years, labeled two thousand to present, the second followed suit with a label of nineteen ninety to two thousand, the third held documents from nineteen eighty to ninety.


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Bailey slowly lowered herself to sit on the carpet and eased out the fourth drawer. Nineteen-seventy-to-eighty. She would start here, with the records of her birth in nineteen seventy-eight, move through her toddler years then work her way up the filing cabinet and through the years of her life. Inside the drawer, she found dividers with tabs for each year within the decade, separating files within those years for medical, legal, receipts, and so on. There were also files between each tab with her father's name and her mother's name written on the outside, personal miscellaneous documentation, she guessed. Yet, as drug her finger over the top edges of those files and tabs, she saw nothing with her name on it. No sign the Lamont family consisted of anyone but her father and mother back in nineteen-seventy-eight through nineteen-eighty. "That's odd." She took a swig from her soda and carefully set it on the carpet beside her, ignoring the sound of her mother's chastising voice in her head about putting a drink on the carpet, as she shifted to sit on her knees. "Did you actually manage to forget exactly when I was born, Dad?" She doubted it. More likely, the file marking her birth had simply been accidentally put in the wrong drawer. Along with the folders for the next two years of your life as well? A nagging voice started to question in her head. She pushed it away, certain the explanation would be right in front of her as soon as she found the files. She closed the forth drawer and immediately opened the third. And yes, there it was right in front, a file clearly marked with her name in her father's big scratchy handwriting. She pulled it out, flipped open the front. There, she found her birth certificate staring up at her right on top. Bailey Leanne Lamont born at seven fifteen in the evening on April 10, 1978 in South Memorial Hospital in Milbank, Alabama. Okay, nothing strange there, she thought then laughed out loud at herself. What had she thought? That she would find a falsified birth certificate or something? That she would discover she was really only twenty-six years old instead of quickly approaching thirty just because her father mistakenly put her birth certificate in the wrong drawer? "Dream on, girl." She shook her head, laughed again and settled back on her rump with the file in her lap. She reached with one hand for the soda can beside her while she turned the certificate over to examine the pages beneath.

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"What the…" She stopped, soda can almost to her lips as she read the heading on the next page. Milbank Municipal Family Court, Milbank, Alabama. A legal document, she realized with a quick scan of the accompanying address and phone number in the heading. Then her scan moved to the next lines, and her blood stilled in her veins. A case number along with the parties listed as the Milbank County Orphanage and Benjamin and Margery Lamont followed by the words, certificate of adoption for one minor child Bailey Leanne Morris. Bailey dropped the soda can. **** Ryan backed Tina against the closed pantry door and kissed the breath out of her. He'd lost his mind. No doubt about it, all sanity had left the building. What was he doing, kissing this woman this way? He didn't even like her! Yet, he knew that, too, was a lie. He did like her. He liked her far more than he should. And he wanted her. God, did he want her! She was fire in his arms, an explosion of heat, of passion, of long pent-up sexual hunger. A hunger he so desperately wanted to feed. He tried to feed it, right there in that tiny kitchen with his tongue deep inside her mouth dancing with hers, tasting her. With his body pressed against her soft angular curves. With his knee as he shoved it between her legs, spreading her. He released her wrist—the one attached to the hand she used to slap him. He had deserved it, too, after the comment he made. After he'd accused her of… Wow! Had he really said that to her? Yeah, he did and he definitely deserved the stinging he still felt in his cheek from that slap. He half expected her to simply give him a go to hell look, maybe shoot him the bird as she stormed out of the kitchen. What she gave him instead was a cheek on fire and one hell of a hard-on. Ryan lifted his knee further between her legs even as he pushed his now free hand between their bodies and up under her blouse. The sounds she made as she started to gyrate against his knee, as his fingers fumbled their way under her bra and found her right nipple, were so sweetly erotic he dammed near came in his jeans. Geezus! Could this woman really get him off with a kiss, a feel, and a few sounds? She almost did. He wasn't alone


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though. He could feel the warmth of her pussy escalate to a raging heat even through the material of her shorts, of his jeans. Did she want him that bad in return? Bad enough to be so turned on by his kiss, by his touch that she would orgasm from a dry hump in the captain's kitchen? The captain's kitchen. Oh holy crap. What the heck was he doing? Ryan tore his mouth from hers, jerked his hand from her blouse and his knee from between her legs so fast she surely would have stumbled backwards if she hadn't had the pantry door to lean against. As it was, she swayed and sort of did a partial melt before her knees locked and her legs steadied. She was breathing fast, her lips swollen from his kiss, her shirt rumpled from his hand. She looked up at him with so much fire and the remnants of anger in her eyes, he very nearly threw caution to the wind. Forget this was the captain's house. Forget the captain was outside right now with his wife and this woman's son. Ryan wanted to open that pantry door and push her inside it then close the door so he could push his cock inside her. Never mind that he didn't know if they would even fit inside that pantry. He would make them fit. "Shit," he breathed because that one word seemed to sum it all up quite nicely. She smiled, a slight little upward tilt of her lips that looked so inviting it made him think of whipped cream and peaches. "Shit." "Yeah, got more than you bargained for with that one, huh?" Ryan looked at her. Did she somehow know? Could she read his mind? That kiss had been more than he bargained for. Way more and not simply because he hadn't meant to do it. He never anticipated it to be so good, hadn't expected it to dammed near knock him off his feet. He certainly hadn't known it would kick up this goofy, fluttery feeling—God, was it possible those were actually butterflies—in his gut. All because he hadn't expected to believe her. "You're good." He shook his head and laughed, a quick burst of sound that conveyed both his surprise and his derision. How had she gotten to him so easily? How had he let her? This entire confrontation had begun a mere ten minutes ago at most, and in the course of those ten minutes she'd twisted everything around until he barely knew which way was up. She'd pissed him off, aroused him almost to the point of a freaking ejaculation, surprised him

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out of his mind and left him more uncertain about everything than he could ever remember being in his life. Then she had the audacity to be pleased with herself. Yes, as he stared down at her, he saw a glimpse of satisfaction pass through her eyes. No doubt about it, he would be seeing that look combined with that almost there, don't-you-want-to-know-what-these-lipscan-really-do smile when he closed his eyes for many nights to come. "Thank you." "I didn't mean that as a compliment." He kept his voice low, but he made his tone hard, indifferent. It was his "I'm being an asshole" tone. The tone he used when he felt his hold slipping or, in this case, when he desperately needed to gain back ground he lost. "I meant, you're good at using what you've got, playing the sex card to get what you want." That did it. Ryan may not have recouped all the control he'd lost, but he certainly earned his Oscar for asshole of the year with that one. He watched as the satisfied gleam left her expression completely, as her incredibly sexy eyes brimmed with tears and her angelic face grew hard as stone. He'd hurt her. Again. He'd pissed her off. Again. And did it make him feel any better? Did it make him feel as though he were standing back on level ground instead of teetering on the edge of the black hole of uncertainty and doubt she'd dug in front of him? Nope. Not a whit. Ryan half expected to be slapped again for that one. He even found himself glancing down at her hand, waiting to see that blur of flesh as she swung at him, this time possibly even with a closed fist. But once again, she surprised him by simply looking up at him and letting him see all the hurt and anger she was feeling in her eyes. "You son of a bitch." Her words were barely a whisper, but he was good at reading lips. Yeah, he was a son of a bitch. In fact, it seemed to be one of the paramount problems here. What happened to the carbon copy image of his bitch of a mother he'd always seen in the past when he looked at Tina? "Actually," he said with a shrug that played at nonchalant. He twisted the cap off one of the bottles of beer and took a swig. It was already growing tepid in the warmer temperature of the kitchen. Or was it the heat they'd created all but scorching the room that caused the beers to go warm so quickly? "You're correct, I am a son of a bitch. Too bad you'll never get the chance to meet my mother. I bet the two of you would really hit it off."


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Her jaw fell, and he wasn't quite sure if it was in shock or if she'd simply opened her mouth to fire back at him with a scathing retort. Either way, it became moot because she turned her head a half a second later at the sound of someone entering the condo through the patio door just out of sight from their position in the kitchen. Ryan heard it too, the distinctive sound of the slider gliding over the metal track, a pause, and then the glide once more as it closed. Less than five steps inside the living room would put them within their visitor's line of sight. There was no time to move, no time to get away, no time to hide. Still, if someone had been keeping score he surely would have earned a point or two because he tried like hell. He leapt back, attempting to put distance between himself and Tina only to plow backward into the fridge. The long narrow handle on the refrigerator door caught him square in the spine and he bit back a curse just as the captain stepped into view. "I'm headed to the station." A large hand smacked the kitchen doorframe as Dean stuck his head around the corner. Tina jumped at the sound, and if the captain's suspicion hadn't already been raised at finding her and Ryan alone, it was now. Of course, one look at the woman completely gave them away. Ryan shot her a quick glance and instantly knew what Dean saw, what he must be thinking and yeah, okay, it probably wasn't far from the truth. Tina was staring past him, possibly unable to meet his gaze, probably attempting to regain even an ounce of her composure. Even so, her flushed skin and still-swollen lips couldn't have been a bigger sign if they'd come attached to semaphore flags. No doubt about it, the woman had been thoroughly kissed. She'd also been crying. Or, at least on the verge of crying. Her eyes were still red, the bottom lids just a bit puffy from her attempts to blink back the tears. And, oh man, as if all of that weren't enough to alert the military to a possible war in progress, her blouse was still bunched around her right breast. It was so obvious Ryan recently had his hand up her shirt, had her breast in his palm he almost reached out to grab it again right there in front of the captain. What would it matter? The man already knew. It would matter a lot, Ryan thought as he watched a deep perception swim into Dean's eyes followed by a visible hardening of the man's chiseled

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features. A muscle in the captain's jaw began to jump as he continued to study Tina. When Dean spoke again, his words were just a bit clipped and obviously meant for Ryan though his gaze remained on Tina. "The whole department is going to be on high alert. We'll need to get disaster preparation started, and we'll assist the police when the evacuations begin. That will probably be soon since we need to get everyone to safety before Monday night." Alert. Disaster preparation. Evacuation. It took the words several seconds to sink into Ryan's frazzled brain. Tina caught on first, and Ryan had to give the woman credit. She bounced back fast. "The hurricane is definitely going to hit us?" She finally met Dean's gaze and, even though her eyes were still a little pink, her lips still a little swollen, she had straightened her shirt, squared her shoulders and was obviously ready to move on to more important matters. Or at least that was what she wanted them to believe. "I just caught the latest advisory on the radio outside." Dean stepped around the edge of the doorframe, moving into full view. Though he wasn't quite as tall or as broad as Ryan, he still made an imposing presence. Especially now that he stood almost completely blocking the doorway of the narrow kitchen. "I, uh, figured that was what was keeping the two of you. You know, that you were watching the report on the television but I guess you were, uh, I guess you missed it." Yeah, they'd definitely missed it. Heck, Ryan hadn't even realized the television was on in the other room. He could hear it now though, the unmistakable nasal voice of the afternoon meteorologist for the local news channel. He let himself zone in on the voice now, took a minute to listen and, uh oh. "The latest advisory from the National Hurricane Center is putting Emilio on our door step by late Monday night or early Tuesday morning." The captain spoke over the weatherman. "It's always possible, of course, that it could decide to shift again between now and then. There's some kind of atmospheric pressure working out there against us right now, pushing the storm our way, but if that dissipates or moves or, hell, I really don't understand a lot of this high and low, inland and outland pressure chatter." "That's a pretty unlikely scenario," Ryan said more to himself than the captain as he continued to listen to the newscaster with one trained ear. Over


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Dean's frustrated babble, he managed to catch enough of the report to know they were in trouble. "This thing has already done some pretty fancy dancing out there in the Gulf in the last week to be heading for us now. Looks like we're in for a hell of a ride, Cap." Dean sighed, a hard push of despairing air, and nodded. "Yeah, after tracking it this last week and watching it dance." He smiled slightly at Ryan's choice of words. "I have to agree with you. We may not have wanted round trip tickets for this ride, but it appears we're dammed sure going to get them." "How bad is it?" Tina sounded concerned now, completely alert. If she'd been acting before, pretending to focus on something other than herself and Ryan, she wasn't now. A hurricane of any magnitude was never something to take lightly. There were probably dozens of people all around Silver Springs and the surrounding cities going into panic mode right about now with many dozen more to follow as the zero hour came near. "I mean, the last I heard it was still a category two. Has that changed? Does the Hurricane Center expect it to change?" As if on cue, Ryan caught the words category three drifting from the television set in the living room at the same time Dean answered Tina. But the news kept getting worse. As slowly as the storm was moving through the Gulf combined with the warm water temperature and atmospheric pressure, or whatever it was the captain had tried to explain, the National Hurricane Center thought it likely Emilio could pick up even more force by the time it made landfall. A possible category four, he heard the meteorologist say. Words to chill the blood of any coastal resident. Though he hadn't heard the captain repeat that part to Tina, Ryan guessed he must have because when he glanced at her he saw her eyes were wide and imploring. He had scared her. Or rather the news of the potential severity of Hurricane Emilio scared her. Which was a good thing, Ryan reminded himself. It had been a long time since the Gulf Coast had seen any type of serious storm but many had threatened without leaving a mark. Thanks to those teasers, coastal residents had become a bit disbelieving when it came to hurricanes hitting the coast. Everyone knew it to be a possibility, they even knew eventually it would again happen, but jumping in to board up the windows, tie everything down and evacuate at the first hint, or even the tenth promise of a storm, just wasn't done by most residents

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any more. Ryan guessed the real task of the next twenty-four hours for the city officials, fire department included, would be in convincing the residents of the Gulf Coast this storm was indeed a serious, immediate and dangerous threat. Tina, however, apparently fell into the slim category of residents who neither panicked nor scoffed at the news of a possible horrendous storm. Instead, she leveled her glare on the captain and asked, "Where should Timmy and I go, and how much time do we have to get there?" **** Rhonda Ramsey absently reached for a box of Rice Krispies on the grocer's shelf, her attention focused on her conversation over the latest die cast Star Wars collectable ship her son intended to buy with this week's allowance. "Thank you so much for letting me get this mommy," seven-year-old Lucas said in a voice that never failed to pull at her heartstrings. "You're welcome sweetheart. You deserve it." "Because I earned it," Lucas said proudly. Rhonda laughed. "That's right baby, because you earned it. See what happens when you do your chores?" "Yes ma'am, but what about daddy? We didn't buy him a prize." Rhonda stopped at the worried look on her son's sweet young face. God, did he have to grow up so fast? He was still so young and yet he understood so much. Far more than he should, she was afraid. "Won't he get mad if we don't bring him something?" Yeah, he would. Preston Ramsey would whine and mope worse than a two year old when she and Lucas returned home without buying him something. And how pathetic was that, a thirty-year-old man with less maturity than his seven-year-old son? "We'll get daddy something next time," she said in a voice full of forced perkiness. "Maybe he'll even decide to come with us so he can pick it out himself." "Okay. Ooo, check this one out mommy. I have got to find this one." Rhonda laughed softly to herself as she stood. Lucas had turned the packaged toy over to inspect the other ship advertised on the back


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cardboard. Just like that, the moment was over. His concern for his father's feelings over shadowed by the latest offerings from Hasbro and Lucas Arts. Maybe he would be okay if she left Preston. But what if he wasn't? What if she somehow damaged her child by forcing him into a life without his father? Rhonda pushed the question and all her indecision aside. The cereal aisle of the Wal-Mart Super Center was certainly no place to decide on their fate. Instead, she zeroed in once more on Lucas's sweet little rambling about Star Wars. "I didn't even know they made that one." Lucas pointed to the picture of a ship on the back of the package and held it up higher. Rhonda leaned down once more to look, her hand still reaching for the Rice Krispies. What she grabbed, however, was a far cry from the box she'd expected. Her fingers curled around warm, smooth flesh and she jerked her hand back, a startled gasp escaping before she could catch it. "Oh my gosh!" She stood straight and whipped her head around, her gaze locking on a V-shaped patch of tan flesh covered with thin dark curls left exposed by the unbuttoned neckline of a solid white shirt. "I'm so…sorry." The last word came out barely louder than a whisper as her gaze climbed—God, when was the last time she had to look up at a man?—until it met a truly remarkable set of green eyes. Mr. Exotic Eyes held up one finger as he finished up a call on his cell. A half a heartbeat later, he snapped the phone shut and pocketed it as he smiled down at her, lips and those incredible eyes curving up in greeting. "I should be the one to apologize." His voice was smooth, melodious, like an FM radio DJ's voice and that smile… Rhonda stared at that smile, gazed into those eyes and fought the urge to turn to Lucas and say, "Ooo, check this one out son. I didn't know they really made them like this. I've got to get me one of these." "Congress passed the law about no talking on cellular phones while driving," the man continued in that voice slightly amused now but still so smooth it slid over her like whipped cream. "Looks like they should add an amendment, no talking on cell phones while grocery shopping. My fault. I wasn't paying attention." "I believe we were both at fault for being distracted."

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"Touché." His grin widened and Rhonda felt a party of butterflies start a mosh pit low in her stomach. "Sometimes being distracted isn't such a bad thing. I believe you were reaching for this." Reaching for? Huh? Rhonda blinked as a strobe kicked on inside her head illuminating one creative idea after another of the many ways she could be distracted with this man. And she had absolutely no right thinking of such things, she told herself and mentally flicked off the switch to her imaginary strobe as well as her libido. Happy or not, she was a married woman. A married woman who under absolutely no circumstances fooled around. At least not in reality. In her mind, however, all bets were off. In her mind, well, an army of combined fingers and toes wouldn't be enough to count the affairs she'd had there. Her gaze dropped to the cereal box and she blinked. "Umm, yeah, thank you." "No mommy, not those. You said I could get the chocolate ones this time." "Oops, my bad." Mr. Exotic Eyes quickly exchanged the box of classic Rice Krispies for the coco kind with an exaggerated wince obviously for Lucas's benefit. He held it out to her son. "I take it you like the chocolate kind best." Lucas nodded. "It turns the milk brown while you're eating it too. Don't you like the chocolate ones?" "Actually, I stick with the plain stuff. Too much chocolate for breakfast with my coffee will have me bouncing off the walls if I'm not careful." "Because they have caffeine. We learned about that in school. Caffeine is a drug but it's an okay drug as long as you don't have too much. Mommy bounces off the walls sometimes when she drinks lots of coffee." "Does she now?" Mr. Exotic Eyes shot her a glance and Rhonda felt her cheeks heat. "Guess you probably shouldn't let her eat too many of those then." "No way." Lucas tossed the box into the buggy. "Those are for my breakfast. They have too many carbs in 'em for mom. She's on a diet." Mr. Exotic Eyes looked at her again but this time his gaze was anything but casual. It slid down her in a slow glide that seemed to drink her in as though it were a straw and she was suddenly his favorite beverage. Her skin tingled from that look even as heat exploded in her center. Geezus, the man's


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eyes needed to come complete with a warning label that read: Caution: Objects may look cool but can heat to maximum velocity in zero point two seconds. "I don't think she needs to be on a diet. What do you think?" he asked, turning his attention back to Lucas. Thank God. "Me neither but you know how women are," Lucas answered with a shrug and an eye roll. Mr. Exotic Eyes laughed and dammed if the sound didn't make Rhonda think of a bird's song on a warm summer's day or waves as they crashed against the shore on an almost secluded beach. Sexy sounds. Romantic sounds. Oh boy. "You're pretty smart, aren't you? What's your name?" "Lucas. I'm seven. My birthday is June twenty-first and I'm in the first grade at Silver Springs Elementary." Rhonda closed her eyes and chuckled to herself. Next he would be volunteering their home phone number or, heck, their address! And wouldn't that be a disaster? "Lucas, huh? Where do you suppose your mom got that name from?" Lucas grinned widely. "George Lucas. He created Star Wars." Actually, the fact that Lucas shared a common name with the infamous good ole George was little more than a mere coincidence but if he wanted to believe he'd been named after a man he admired, one of the richest and most famous men in the movie industry, who was she to argue? "He's really smart and has an awesome imagination," Lucas continued. "I bet you do too. Have a good imagination, I mean." "Yep but I didn't get that cause my name is Lucas. I got that from my mom. She's a writer too." Lucas stood on his tiptoes and leaned in, as though what he was about to say was a secret between men. "She writes sexy books. You know, the kind with the manly chests on the cover?" Rhonda's cheeks flamed. Did he really have to go there? With this man, for crying out loud! She heard Mr. Exotic Eyes snicker but he recovered quickly enough and, thank you Jesus, he didn't turn to look at her. "So your mom writes romance novels, huh?" Lucas nodded and wrinkled his nose. "Gross, huh? When I grow up I'm going to write something with lots of cool creatures in an undiscovered universe like Star Wars. What's your name?"

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"Michael." He answered without hesitation, accepting the abrupt subject change with ease. He turned to Rhonda, extended his left hand. "I'm Michael Cosmos. I also answer to Mike or Cosmo." Rhonda put her hand in his, thinking it odd he would offer his left hand. But okay, maybe he was left handed. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could think of something to say, Lucas once again intercepted the conversational ball. "Your name is Cosmo? Really? That's so cool! Will you be my fairly oddparent?" It took Rhonda a second to make the connection to the Nickelodeon cartoon but Michael—Cosmo didn't miss a beat. "You watch that too, huh buddy? Sadly, I would probably suck as a fairly oddparent. I don't have a wand and I don't have Wanda at my side to fix my spells when I screw them up. What if you asked me to get you a Millennium Falcon and my spell goes wrong like Cosmo's always do and I turn you into one?" Lucas giggled and rolled his eyes. "And then you could say, What? My wand is broken?" he said in an almost perfect imitation of the comical green haired cartoon character. Michael laughed, shook his head. "He doesn't miss a beat, does he?" "Never," Rhonda answered around the pounding pulse in her throat. He'd yet to let go of her hand and his felt so warm, so large in comparison to her slim one. "And you are?" "Rhonda Ramsey." "Rhonda." He grinned at her, another of those dazzling smiles that reached those incredible eyes and made her want to whimper from the injustice of it all. It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair for this man to be so beautiful and so totally out of her hear reach. "Wanda. Rhonda." "Hey, those rhyme." Lucas piped in. "They sure do." Michael's gaze dropped to their still joined hands. He did it so fast she would have missed it if his eyes hadn't mesmerized her. His thumb grazed lightly over the backs of her fingers and tingles danced all the way up her arm. "I could have a side kick after all. I don't suppose you want to straighten out my spells for me." Oh dear sweet baby Jesus! He didn't mean?


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But he did, Rhonda realized and felt the heat traveling through their connected palms. She gazed into his eyes and saw his every desire made stronger still by the promise, the lust, and pure animalistic attraction. And wasn't he a slick one? she mused as she finally put it together. It was a move she would have to remember, one sure to make a great scene addition in a story. Michael Cosmos wasn't left handed. He'd used the handshake, gone with the unconventional left-handed approach, to discretely see if she wore a wedding band. It was a fishing expedition of an all-new dimension. Give the man points for creativity. Too bad he lost his fish before he even got his hook in the water. "Things aren't always as they appear, Michael." She turned their hands until hers was on top and then pointedly looked down at her naked ring finger. She hadn't worn her wedding band in years. "That's too bad," Michael said and she could see in his eyes he really meant it. "It was a pleasure meeting you Rhonda. And you, young man." He reached with his free hand to ruffle Lucas's blondish brown hair. "I'll be the first one in the theater when you create that new undiscovered universe." He released Rhonda's hand so slowly she knew she would feel the remnants of his touch forever, then grabbed a box of original Rice Krispies off the shelf and strolled down the aisle. Rhonda watched as he walked away, her body burning with too many unsatisfied needs to name, her mind reeling with desires she couldn't have. **** Tripp opened the front door of his home and Bailey launched herself into his arms. Oh Holy Christ, she felt too good. Her firm, well-toned body molded to his as if they were meant to be one. And they were. He'd simply yet to convince her of that fact. Or had he? He'd been in the process of dressing when the doorbell rang. Expecting one of the guys, he'd grabbed his jeans, jogged downstairs, and now the last person he'd expected to find stood quivering in his arms. "Bailey, are you alright?" He wanted to believe she was here now, in his arms because she'd finally come to her senses. Deep down he knew better. This woman allowed herself to be in his arms only twice in the past, both times he'd made the first move, both times she'd been upset over something.

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"What's happened, baby?" He held her, one arm around her slim waist, the other with his hand skimming down the back of her silky smooth hair in an absent motion to comfort and soothe. The first time he held her had been similar to this and yet far more earth shattering. He'd caught her outside the Paradise Lounge in a night of uncharacteristic pity partying, confusion, fear, and sadness. She'd nearly lost it that day in the elevator shaft at the hotel and he'd realized then the dark secret she was desperately trying to hide. More, he'd realized she felt the undercurrents of something far more than friendship between them, too. He pulled her into his arms, held her much like he was doing now and kissed her until they were both breathless, confused and wanting. Then, with tears pooling in her eyes and sheer denial on her face, she'd ran from him. The tears undid him. Unable to let her go, he'd followed her back to her cottage where she'd eventually let him inside, ultimately came apart in his arms, and finally fell asleep in his arms on her living room sofa. The next morning he'd made her breakfast and resigned himself to the fact that she wouldn't allow them to be anything more than friends. She pretended the night never happened. And he let her pretend because, Jesus God, it was moments like this when she turned to him for the comfort and solace she craved that was worth all the pretending in the world. Not yet ready to release her, Tripp backed them inside, kicked the door closed. His hand on the back of her head continued to pet and soothe and he made nonsensical sounds to calm her. "Shhh. It's okay, baby. Get it all out." He couldn't say how long he stood with her in the small, square foyer whispering those asinine words. "It's okay. Everything is going to be okay," because he didn't know what else to do or say. He half expected her to lash out at him. After what felt like hours but probably only amounted to about five or ten minutes passed, her sobs began to fade, her breathing began to slow. Was it possible she was crying herself to sleep in his arms again, this time standing up? He felt her growing more lax against him, and he tightened his arm around her waist. "Bailey, can you talk to me now? Can you tell me what happened?" Can I pick you up, carry you to my bed and do my damnedest to make you forget whatever it is that's made you so upset? Can I touch you, taste you, make love to you until the end of time?


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No, no, no, shithead. Friend. This woman came to him because she so obviously needed a friend. She didn't need him to be the single minded male who thought with his penis and, okay yeah, in his own defense, his heart too. She needed the man who thought with the brain in the other head and with the other half of his heart, the half that retained the ability to be platonic, to be a friend. Though she didn't lift her face from where she'd buried it in the curve of his neck and shoulder, he felt her shake her head. "I can't. Not yet. Just hold me, Tripp. I need for you to hold me right now." Okay. He could do this. She wanted—no, the word she used was need and there was definitely a difference. Wanting implied just that, the desire for something, in this case, his arms around her. A need however was far more intense, far more detrimental if left denied. He should know. Enough of his own needs had been left denied by this woman. But he didn't want to think about them now. She needed him to hold her and he would. She needed his comfort, his friendship and that's what he would give her. Later, in his dreams because that was the only place it would ever happen, he would service his own needs of her. "Okay. We don't have to talk. Not until you're ready. We should probably move though, get out of the foyer. Do you want to sit down?" Do you want to lie down? Stop it. "We can go in the kitchen or the living room." Or the bedroom. Stop it! Geezus, his other brain simply wouldn't stop thinking! Apparently, it developed a mouth too because it certainly wouldn't stop talking in his mind, adding questions he definitely didn't need to ask. "I'm not sure I can walk right now," Bailey answered in that still barely audible, slightly muffled voice. And wasn't this something he hadn't considered? That he actually would end up picking her up and carrying her to the couch. Yes, that's where he would carry her. No. On second thought, make it the kitchen because the chairs at his kitchen table were only big enough for one. There would be no chance of him lying with her in a kitchen chair. Unless she sat in his lap, that devious brain with the new mouth told his head on his shoulders. Unless she straddled him, her legs spread wide on either side of his hips as she lowered herself on to him, as he pushed himself deep inside her and….

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Tripp lifted her into his arms and felt her quick intake of surprise. She cupped the back of his neck with one hand while the other glided over his shoulder, down to his bicep. It felt good, way too darn good, to have her hands on him this way, to have her body pressed against him this way. Bailey Lamont was certainly no feather. Instead, she was the perfect proportion of mass and muscle, of flat planes and curves and, if he didn't get her out of his arms soon, his head would explode. Still, he held her tightly, closely, savoring the moment for all it was worth. Who knew if he would ever get a chance like this again? He slowly stepped out of the foyer, stopped when indecision threw him another curve ball as he moved just inside the living room. He lived in a one-bedroom loft. To his left stood a swinging door leading to the moderately sized combination kitchen/dining room area. To his right, on the far side of the largely open living room sat a battered sofa, big screen television and the Lazy Boy recliner. And straight ahead were the stairs to the second floor. "What's the matter?" Bailey asked, a catch in her voice. And how was that for irony? Here she was, putty in his hands, sobbing on his shoulder and she wanted to know what was wrong with him? Oh baby, where should he start? He shook his head and took a step. "Nothing. I just—" He broke off when she finally raised her head to gaze at him. She looked so vulnerable. He thought he'd seen her at her most defenseless before but it hadn't been like this. Never like this. She gazed at him and what he saw in her eyes tore at his heart. Fear, loss, grief, fatigue, they were all there in the puffy reddened depths of her so expressive eyes. He saw something else too, something that nearly pushed his blood pressure high enough to make it possible for him to orbit the sun. It was need but not just any need. This woman craved intimacy right now and she'd come to him. Bailey Lamont, wonder of wonders, thank you sweet God above, had come to him for sex. Except, what if he were wrong? What if what he thought he saw in her eyes right now was simply his mind—definitely the lower one again—doing its nasty thang? How could he know for sure? Her hand on the back of his neck snaked its way up, buried itself in his hair while the other hand began a slowly agonizing massage of his bicep, collarbone and bare chest. Until now, he'd actually forgotten he wore little


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more than a ratty pair of jeans. Shit, had he even remembered to fasten them? "I think I would rather lie down," she told him and, oh the hope that tripped in his heart at that one. But no, she didn't mean it in the way he wanted her to. She was exhausted. Tripp nodded. "Okay. You're welcome to stretch out on the sofa." And he would kick back in the recliner, watch her sleep, be there for her if the nightmares returned. On the other hand… "Or you can rest in my bed upstairs." He instantly regretted making the suggestion and quickly added, "You know, if you think you would be more comfortable there." Bailey had a facial expression he'd grown accustom to seeing quite often on her face in recent months. She would look at him with a slight frown on her delicious lips, one sexy eyebrow raised, her perfect head cocked to one side. The look clearly told him whatever comment he made crossed some invisible line she'd sketched between them. It was the stare she used to remind him their relationship was that of friends and insinuating anything different was not allowed. Tripp expected to see it on her face now. Instead, the look that came over her puffy but still gorgeously smooth and even features was one he wouldn't have thought he would get if they were the last male and female on the planet. Her gaze flicked to the stairs that would take them to the second floor, take them to his bed, and then she looked back at him, straight into his eyes. Her hand was still in his hair, playing with it, making him want to melt right there in the middle of the floor, it felt so freaking good. Then he nearly did melt as her gaze flicked once again, this time down to his mouth. It was fast, the quickest of glances he surely would have missed if he hadn't already been mesmerized by what he saw in her eyes and orbiting the sun moved from mere possibility to almost certainty. "Will you…?" she whispered but stopped, licked her lips, cleared her throat. "Will you lie down with me?" Holy mother of God. "You mean upstairs? In my bed?" No, that couldn't be what she meant. He misunderstood. Except, how could he have? He wasn't blind and all the signals she was giving him—her declaration that she couldn't walk, her hands in his hair and on his chest, that glance at the stairs then at his mouth—all but screamed she wanted him. Wanted him! And

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what was he doing, trying to talk her out of it? Uh-ah. No way. "Jesus, Bailey, are you sure?"


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Chapter 5 "This is going to be bad, isn't it, sir?" Ryan stood in the lounge area of the station house, his gaze transfixed on the radar zoomed in on the television screen. Now that the National Hurricane Center bumped Silver Springs and the immediate surrounding areas to a hurricane warning rather than a mere watch, the local television channels cut off all regular programming to provide around the clock coverage of the quickly approaching storm. They would be there, the Channel 5 newscasters, keeping their viewers up to date with the latest at least until they lost power. And that much was inevitable. When this thing hit, it would likely take out power and who knew what else for miles. Beside him, Dean sighed and rocked back on his heels. "Yeah, it definitely appears that way." "The bastard is headed right for us." On the television, the picture flashed to another radar, this one charting the projected path of Hurricane Emilio hour by relentless hour until it made landfall sometime the following evening. According to that map, Emilio was expected to veer to the Northwest one more time before it hit, touching down smack dab in Billings, the next city over on the west side. "If that projection holds, we'll get the worst side of the storm," Dean agreed. "Have you ever been through a hurricane, Magee?" "No, sir." Ryan had been born and raised in Nevada. Heat, desert and sand storms he was used to, but no hurricanes. "I've seen what they can do though, the devastation they can leave in their path." "If Emilio does dive on top of Billings they're going to be in far worse shape than we are. The city is larger, more people, more water-front property, more structures for destruction. The storm surge alone for this hurricane has the ultimate potential to wipe Billings, and even Silver Springs for that matter, off the map."

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"How many idiots can a place elect to comprise one city council?" Ryan muttered and, because he meant it as a rhetorical question, he answered himself. "Just ask Billings. Whose brilliant idea was it to line their areas of the Gulf Coast beaches with multi-billion dollar casinos and high-rise hotels, anyway, Captain? Knowing, mind you, they are in the hurricane capital of the world." "Actually, I believe Florida holds that crown but, yeah, I agree it was a real ingenious move. One that the decision makers are about to dearly pay for in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours." No. It was the people of Billings who would pay, the ones who depended on those casinos and hotels for their paychecks or even for a place to live. Hotels and casinos that would no doubt be wiped out completely by the coming winds and rain and accompanying tidal surge. Yeah, no doubt about it, the emergency service branches in Billings were going to need several truckloads of extra hands when Emilio finally passed. But those extra hands wouldn't be coming from the Silver Springs stations. At least not until they took care of their own area. Silver Springs didn't have as much water front property and beaches as their neighbor. They didn't have the multi-billion dollar buildings lining their sandy shores either. What they did have however, were multi-million dollar homes, yacht clubs and marinas, apartment complexes and condominiums. Condominiums like those in which the captain lived. Oh shit. Ryan turned to study Dean. "You're evacuating your condo, right sir? I mean, I know you'll probably want to stay here at the station, but your wife—" "I just got off the phone with Veronica. Jason and his wife are stopping by our place to help her board up the windows and get everything inside. The Keaton estate is out that way and Jason and Angelina are out there now helping Angelina's family make sure that monstrosity of a house is secure. Once they're done there, they will head on over to my place. Good thing Jason is so close these days." The captain sighed and pushed a hand through this hair. "I didn't realize when you and I left earlier that I wouldn't make it back. I should be there, with Ronnie, you know but, well, I'm needed here." Yeah, Ryan knew. Being in charge could suck big time in situations such as this. Still, the man had a job to do. Dean may have committed himself to Veronica but he'd sworn himself to the fire department too, may


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years before that. Ryan tried to think what it would feel like to be away from a woman he loved as much as the captain did Veronica, especially knowing such a dangerous situation would be on top of them any hour now and couldn't quite understand it. Because he'd never felt a love like that, never wanted to. He did feel as though he'd been blindsided by a two by four when a crystal clear picture of Tina Walker popped into his mind. He quickly forced it away because this was not the time to be thinking of her. Why had she popped into his mind right now anyway? Talk about the wrong bullets to be firing with that gun. Wives, love, oh yeah, some wiseass definitely loaded his gun with the wrong ammunition. Him. He was the wiseass, or rather, the stupid ass because, geeze, had he actually allowed those few minutes in the captain's kitchen to change the way he thought about Tina? Not in the sense that he thought himself in love with her. It took more than a grope and a dry hump in a kitchen to make him fall for a woman. And he certainly didn't want her to be his wife. Christ! That thought almost made him shudder. He did, however, find himself wondering how wrong he'd been about her all these months. Dean still hadn't mentioned the encounter and Ryan was hesitant to bring it up. Yet, he'd reached a point where he had to, he had to know. "What about Tina and Timmy? What will they do? Where will they go? I know you told her to go to a shelter, not to stay at her house. Will she listen?" Dean shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, and an uneasy ten or fifteen seconds passed before he answered. "She'll listen. Like probably everyone else in town, she'll hate to leave everything behind. Especially not knowing what she'll come home to when this is over. If she has anything to go home to at all. But she won't take any unnecessary chances. The shelters have already started opening. She'll go there." Evacuations were already in progress, starting with the waterfront properties and lower lying areas. The report broadcast a little over an hour ago, and many of the shelters immediately began preparing to take in people. Ryan had to give it to the town officials of Silver Springs, when emergency called they were ready to answer. "Tina and Timmy will be fine," Dean continued, his voice confident even if a bit tighter than normal. "Though I suspect she'll do like a lot of

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people and wait until the evacuation becomes mandatory for her area of the city." "That probably won't be long now." "No. I wish I could have told her to come here. I'd feel better having them close. I hate her and Timmy being out there alone. She doesn't have any family in this town. I know she has a few friends but they have families of their own. There just isn't room here. Especially not once everyone comes. Chief Stanton wants everyone called in. Those who can make it before the storm hits are being told to bring their families. If they can't, they're to report as soon as the storm has passed." Ryan supposed that made senses. The station house was one of the most stable buildings in the town and located on higher ground than most. It was also quite large, thank you, Jesus, because with three fully manned shifts of personnel and their families to boot, space was about to get a little cramped. On the television screen, the picture cut to an aerial shot of Billings where evacuations there were also in progress. Highway 90, the man strip along the coast and one of the only two in or out of town, was a parking lot. No doubt, the main streets through Silver Springs would soon follow suit. People were actually heeding the warnings and getting out of Dodge, despite the fact that the skies above remained a clear shade of baby blue giving off no hint of the approaching storm. That would change though as the clouds, wind, and rain rolled in and then, God help them all. Dean turned from the television set, finally giving Ryan his full attention. "I wasn't going to say anything." And here it came. Ryan's first real reaming from a man he'd come to admire and respect as much as any he'd ever worked with on any team. God! Suddenly he felt like a freaking two-year-old getting slapped on the hand for touching something he shouldn't have. Then again, he had touched something he shouldn't have. And tasted, and groped, and… "You may not see it as any of my business," Dean continued. "And you may be right. Your personal life is your own. I don't know what happened between you and Tina today and I'm not going to ask. However, I will tell you, Timmy means the world to me and so does his mom. In the years I've known them, I've watched them go through a lot. I've watched Tina work her ass off to make the best possible life she can for that boy. I've watched her hit bottom, and I've watched her pick herself up again. She's done all of


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it with nearly no help at all. I don't—" He broke off and if Ryan didn't know better he would almost swear the man's voice cracked. "I don't want to see either of them hurt." "What happened at your house, sir—" Ryan began but stopped, shook his head. "It wasn't supposed to happen. It shouldn't have happened. I'm—I apologize. It won't happen again." "I'm sorry to heart that," Dean said, surprising the shit out of him. "You're a good man, Ryan. I know the rumors about you—that you're a player, a womanizer and so forth—but if you are truly interested in Tina, then I wish you wouldn't back off because of me. Yes, she's a single mom. Yes, I would like to see her fall in love and get married to a man who will make her a great husband and Timmy a wonderful father." Dean laughed at the look Ryan knew must be on his face. "I'm not necessarily saying that man is you. What I'm saying is, you like her. Take her on a date or two or twenty. Get to know her. Hell, sleep with her if that's what you both want. Just make sure whatever happens, that you are on the level with her. Don't hurt her or that precious son of hers." Flabbergasted, Ryan definitely didn't know what to say to all of that. He opened his mouth but closed it just as quickly when he realized he would likely babble rather than say anything that made sense right now. Instead, he simply nodded and finally said, "I won't. Thank you sir." "S.O. has dispatched the tones to call everyone in." Ryan didn't bat an eye at the captain's brisk change of subject. Just like that, they were back to firefighter and Captain with a serious job to do. "How's your dialing finger? I want to give everyone a back up ring, tell them to come in as soon as they get their own stuff secure. You can help me with that. Then take some time for yourself, go home and board up your windows, tie everything down and report back when you're done." **** "Yes." Bailey didn't feel sure about much in her life right now, hadn't since her entire world turned upside down with her discovery of, geezus, her adoption papers. But in this decision, she felt an absolute certainty that was almost chilling. She wanted to share this man's bed. She knew the

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repercussions this act would play on her career, on her life and yet she couldn't deny herself the single thing that still felt real. Tripp. He loved her. Though he'd never said the words, she knew he did. And she loved him. She'd already begun to work out a plan so they could be together, so she could allow their relationship to progress beyond friendship. Yes, sleeping with him this afternoon would be jumping the gun, so to speak, but right now she craved a slice of a world full of passion and light, of love and, most of all, truth. "Make love to me, Tripp," she whispered. Dammit, her voice hitched on the words. She wouldn't start to cry again. It hurt him, she knew, to see her cry and she guessed he would do almost anything to prevent her from shedding more tears. She didn't want that, didn't want him to be with her this afternoon out of pity. "But don't say yes because you know I need you right now. Say you will because you want to." "How about I say yes, I will because I know you need me and I want to? God Bailey, how could you think I wouldn't want you?" Someone else obviously hadn't. Bailey kept the thought to herself and blinked away the tears that came in its wake. Funny how quickly that feeling of abandonment set in her heart. Her parents—or at least the people she believed all her life to be her parents—had wanted her enough to adopt her, but someone hadn't. Someone gave her away. And Tripp wanted her. Yes, she definitely knew that. She could taste it, too, in the sweet warmth of his mouth. Her fingers still laced in his hair, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him. His lips were soft, his tongue even softer, and he tasted faintly of soda and mint and that unmistakable flavor she remembered all too well from the only other kiss she'd ever shared with this man. A mysterious flavor of man and confidence that belonged only to him. He made a sound low in his throat that was either pleasure or protest or both. She wasn't sure at first but when she felt him attempt to pull away she decided on protest. With her planted securely in his arms, he could do little short of dropping her to break the suction she'd created between their mouths. It would be up to her, and she wasn't yet ready to stop. She angled her head, kissing him deeper instead, and he quit trying to pull away. She felt his surrender in the tightening of his arms, pulling her closer still against the hard wall of his body. She felt it in the hardening of his kiss too. The


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way his lips and tongue brought them from the place where the kiss seemed almost awkward and so tenderly sweet as if he were afraid she might break to a level of pure hunger and barely controlled passion. It was everything she'd been missing and more, all she'd been wanting since that night outside the Paradise Lounge and more. It was everything she'd been denying herself, denying him for months. Heck, more like years! As much as she tried to hide from it, run from it, ignore it and deny it, she'd started to fall for this man mere days after signing on with the Silver Springs F. D., and this afternoon, even if she couldn't find the words to tell him how much she cared, she would show him. Bailey pushed all worries and inhibitions out of her mind, struck a match at the copies of the adoption records she saw in her head and concerned herself only with Tripp, with feeling wanted and alive. When she at last tore her mouth from his, he was breathing hard, his heart pounding wildly under her hand. Beads of sweat sparkled along his forehead. He opened his eyes as if waking from a deep dream and for a split second they flashed with a look of surprise as though he'd thought it possible he had been dreaming. Bailey could relate. This whole afternoon felt much like a dream to her too. Especially when she fisted her fingers in his hair, gently tugged his head back and leaned in to nip at his jaw line. Her tongue glided over the smoothness of his freshly shaved skin then she licked her way down his neck, bending her head to kiss and nip at his collarbone. "Jesus Bailey." His words came on a ragged breath that sounded of both torture and pleasure. Then he chuckled slightly, and that sound, too, came out breathless and more heated desire than amusement. "You're making my knees weak, baby." "Good, because just looking at you has been making my knees weak for nearly two years now. But you can put me down," she added and lifted her head to meet his gaze. "You know, if you're afraid you might drop me." She winked at him, and he laughed, shook his head but his smile faded all too quickly. "I'm getting afraid of a lot of things all of a sudden," he admitted, and to her surprise he actually started to put her down. She'd expected him to wait until he had her upstairs before he put her down.

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He slowly lowered her, letting her slide down his body until she stood on her own feet before him, her body still pressed against his. Both of his arms were around her waist again, and he held her as he had in the doorway. Bailey shot a glance around his shoulder to the now closed door, darted another glance over her own shoulder to the stairs leading to the second floor. He'd carried her maybe ten feet inside with a good fifty feet or more to go before they even made it up those stairs. Suffice to say, they weren't making very swift progress here. "I'm afraid if we do this, you're going to have regrets." He brought one hand to the side of her face to cup her cheek. "You were upset when you got here. You're still upset. About what, I don't know, but this… I don't want you and me, this, to be a product of that. I don't want you to have regrets when this is over, Bailey." She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him there would be no regrets, no recriminations but realized she couldn't be certain if she uttered those words they would be true. She also realized if she couldn't believe herself, more words would never convince him. So she chose to act instead. With one hand now pressed between them but still splayed on his chest, she took a small step backward to give herself room to explore. She skimmed that hand down, through the path of dark curls decorating his chest, abs and stomach. Jesus, the man was ripped! When she reached the waistband of his jeans she was pleasantly surprised to find them unbuttoned and unzipped. More, when she boldly began to snake her fingers inside, she discovered only warm, slightly hairy flesh. Lieutenant Tripp Barrett didn't wear underwear. Holy God! "So, is this commando thing a habit or just lucky timing on my part?" She had to ask because the thought of him going around all the time without underwear, however would she get anything done at the department anymore? He laughed, a short burst of amused air that broke a bit of the tension that seemed to have settled between them at his confession of fear. "I was just getting out of the shower when you rang the bell." He shrugged, but a tinge of pink rose to color his cheeks. "I half expected it to be, you know, Dean or one of the other guys from the department. They do that sometimes, swing by unannounced to throw some darts or kick up a poker game, toss back a few beers or whatever."


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Bailey hadn't known the guys from B shift dropped by Tripp's house often enough that he'd come to expect it on his days off. How had she missed that? She'd been working the same shift with the same group of men for nearly two years. "I didn't realize." She shook her head. "Yeah well, it doesn't happen as much as it used to, the guys stopping by, now that our schedule has evened out a bit." Bailey would have thought the change caused it to happen more frequently but then maybe not. Until seven months ago, the S.S.F.D., as a result of the lack of personnel to fully man the A and C shifts, had operated on a four days on/four days off rotation. With the hiring of a few recruits, that schedule changed to the normal twenty-four on /forty-eight off most departments worked. "And opening the door to them half dressed is your usual M.O.?" "No but it would have seemed far less inappropriate if it had been one of the guys than it does knowing it was you. If I had been expecting you—" "You would have taken more time to answer the door, made sure to put on more clothes," Bailey finished for him even as her fingers worked their way a fraction of an inch further into his jeans. "A shirt, socks, maybe even a pair of shoes. You definitely would have made it a point to button and zip your jeans. But would you have bothered to put on underwear? I suppose that is now the sixty-four million dollar question for the day." She pushed her fingers down and found his cock, just the tip, but it was enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. "Personally though, I think the way you answered the door is completely appropriate." Though if she'd had her way today, he would have opened the door wearing absolutely nothing. No doubt about it, that sight would have certainly and immediately taken her mind off of everything that so suddenly sucked in her world. Bailey tried to reach more of him but even with the unfastened fly, the combination of the too tight jeans and the outrageously large, magnificently hard cock was making it impossible to get her slim hand inside. "I can't get to you," she finally said, letting her building frustration ring in her voice when he finally opened his eyes to gaze at her. "I'll help you with that," he told her, his voice gruff, his eyes already starting to glaze over with an unmistakably sexual haze. But his hands began to slide up, to move under her shirt and over the bare flesh of her back rather than between them to the waistband of his jeans as his words implied. "But,

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God Bailey, I have to ask just one more time. Are you sure, absolutely positive you don't want to talk first? We could go somewhere, grab something to eat or take a walk on the beach or, damn, you feel so good." This time as he spoke his hands did move between them but the point he targeted was several inches above his own waist and, ah yes, on her body rather than his. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her bra, pushing the cups up as he covered her breasts with his palms. His thumbs brushed over her already taut nipples even as his hands caressed, massaged. "Yeah, like I can talk with you doing that," she whispered on a half laugh, half moan. "Oh Tripp, please." But please was apparently not the magic word with this man because he stopped. His hands stilled on her breasts, his thumbs coming to rest on top of her nipples, and she realized what she'd just told him. "I didn't mean you could stop! I don't want to talk, Tripp. I'm absotively, posolutely certain that I do not want to talk. At least not about anything that doesn't pertain to getting you out of these tight ass jeans so I can touch you." "Absotively, posolutely," he repeated and laughed, shook his head and kissed her. No. Kiss wasn't the right word this time. He inhaled her, consumed her, possessed her. His hands moved from her breasts, and she wanted to protest, especially when those hands pulled from beneath her shirt completely. But then he was picking her up again, carrying her to the stairs and she knew finally, finally he'd stopped resisting, stopped worrying and fully surrendered. And the tones dropped. For a moment, Bailey didn't have the slightest clue what that earpiercing squeal of an alarm meant. It didn't make sense. Then she heard a second, less ear splitting tone join the first and it made perfect sense. Their department radios, the ones every firefighter on the department kept on hand whether on duty or off. Tripp's sounded the loudest because his sat on the end table at the foot of the stairs. She'd left hers in her bag by the front door. Tripp made a sound Bailey had never heard come from any man before, let alone the usually easy going lieutenant, and wrenched his mouth from hers. He stared at his radio, still blaring that constant sequence of short and long alarm tones, as if it were at fault for having such horrible timing. When


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he looked back at Bailey his expression was quite possibly the most grim she'd ever seen it. He rested his forehead to hers and sighed. "You know what that means, don't you?" Bailey nodded. "We have to go in." Tripp nodded, too, and set her on her feet, sighed heavily. "We have to go in." **** His hands grazed down her sides, barely touching and yet even through the material of her shirt—his shirt—they sent her senses into overload. A fire, red-hot and all consuming, sparked inside her, burned through her, spilled out of her as he sunk to his knees at her feet. One hand skimmed down her naked thigh to lift it, position it to rest on the cool iron rail of the balcony even as his other hand snaked around her waist to pull her close. She buried her hands in his hair, let her fingers toy with the dark silky strands, flexed those fingers around those locks of hair when a rush of warm breath blew over her mound. Oh sweet merciful heaven, if felt so good, too good, and she knew he wouldn't stop there. She'd agreed to let him have this much but no more, not tonight. She wouldn't sleep with him tonight no matter how desperately she wanted to, but she would allow him this, allow herself this electrifying moment of pleasure. The sound of a sliding glass door gliding over its metal track in the apartment upstairs broke the silence of the night followed by a couple of whispered voices and giggles as his upstairs neighbors settled in their balcony chairs. Of course, one doubted the woman upstairs was half naked like she was, wearing only an oversized male button down shirt and absolutely nothing else. And she doubted that the woman's husband was on his knees right now about to…. Oh yeah. His finger slipped between her wet folds and she heard herself sigh from the smooth sweet pleasure. He was really going to do this. Right here on the balcony. Not that anyone watching from a far would be able to tell exactly what they were doing. The shirt she wore—borrowed when she clumsily spilled her after dinner glass of wine in her lap, thoroughly drenching the dress she wore along with her panties—covered her completely even if it did kick up the sex appeal a couple of dozen notches.

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He, on the other hand, remained fully clothed in the charcoal gray slacks he wore with a midnight blue shirt. He'd loosened his tie and removed his jacket, but otherwise he looked simply like a well-dressed man who'd recently come home from work. Maybe the fact that he was on his knees in front of her would raise a few eyebrows from any nosy neighbors. She slowly scanned the other balconies facing this one, glanced down to the parking lot then out in the street. It appeared they were completely alone on this gorgeous night. Except for the couple upstairs, but they would need x-ray vision to see through their balcony floor to know what was happening below them. Or ears because if she could hear them whispering, then they could certainly hear her gasped moan as he leaned in to lick at her mound, spread her folds apart, slip his tongue inside, and… Three short raps to the partially open door of his office brought Michael Cosmos back to the land of Senator's daughters and drug runners with a start. He jumped then shifted in his desk chair, attempting to make it look as though he hadn't just been startled out of his skin. Both moves were a basic agency blunder though, for they were both clear indications he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't. Never let them see you sweat. Never let them see you squirm. They were rules agents employed by almost any bureau in the United States government followed to the letter. Usually. When was the last time he'd allowed anyone to startle him so completely? More, when was the last time he'd actually blushed? The last question was easy. Now. He felt his cheeks flame and knew now would be the correct response to that question. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you." Lara Hampton strode into his office, perched on the seat of the chair opposite his desk and crossed her legs, laced her fingers around the knee. The woman moved like a supermodel, her entire persona more reminiscent of Josie Maran than that expected of a prominent U.S. Senator's daughter. Michael learned all too quickly the woman was trouble with a capital T and with that trouble came an all-new recipe for disaster. "What are you working on?" She leaned forward, angling her head to get a better look at his computer screen. A quick nudge and click of the mouse and the web page he'd been viewing disappeared. But dammit, he'd forgotten to bookmark the site to his favorites first. Just as well, he supposed. With his luck lately he would


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forget it was there, step out of his office for a moment without first signing off line and one of the other agents would come behind him, discover the site. "Nothing important," Michael half-lied. Surfing through Rhonda Ramsey's website and reading the posted excerpts—the very hot, very explicit excerpts—was in no way important to Michael Cosmos, the DEA agent. It surprised him though, how much it mattered to Michael Cosmos, the man. "Mmm, hmm." Lara slowly nodded, the smile on her heart-shaped lips making it obvious his lie hadn't fooled her either. Still, to his ever-growing relief, she didn't press for the truth. Instead, she effortlessly shifted their conversation to business. Yes, supermodel trouble incarnate that she was, Lara Hampton was also surprisingly intelligent and a dammed good presence in the political arena. Or at least she would be when she finally buried her insatiable need for excitement and her hunger to live on the edge. "Any news yet?" Michael shook his head. No news was, in this case, not good news, and it was making him edgy. Apparently, from her expression, he wasn't the only one. Good. For once, the twenty-four year old bombshell with aspirations of dissolving drug trafficking in America actually saw the potential danger of a situation before she fell head over fuck-me heels into said danger and, wow, could she actually be thinking twice before acting this time? "I haven't heard anything yet. Nothing is coming up through the usual channels and my contacts have been silent so far." He'd all but given up on hearing anything now with the threat of Hurricane Emilio, but he didn't tell her that. He'd been checking out a few of those usual channels on the web when he'd allowed himself to become both aggravated at the lack of useful information to be found and side tracked by the thoughts of a woman that refused to leave his mind. That's when his search through the Google database changed to two words, Rhonda and Ramsey. Within seconds, he'd found himself surfing her official website and, hello, Mrs. Ramsey didn't just write romance novels. She wrote erotic romance novels! Lucas Ramsey's sweet, intelligent voice echoed in Michael's memory. "She writes sexy books though. You know, the kind with the manly chests on the cover?"

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Yeah, Michael saw several covers on Rhonda's website with manly chests as their center of focus. He'd also read more than the one excerpt he'd been reading when Lara arrived. Thanks to Rhonda Ramsey and her sexy books, the hard-on that had been making his slacks unbelievably tight was only now just beginning to fade. Geezus, it had been so easy to picture himself dropping to his knees in front of Rhonda Ramsey. He had the slacks, dress shirt and loosened tie thing already down pat. Hell, he even lived in a second floor apartment with a balcony in a three-floor apartment building. And she had the husband, he reminded himself and forced her out of his thoughts. As if on cue, the phone at his elbow finally rang. Across the desk, Lara sat up even straighter, her eyes huge in her face. "Could that be?" "I hope so. I'm not expecting any other calls." He held up one finger to silence her even as he reached to pick up the receiver. "Cosmos." "Found it." Cameron Stone's clipped greeting was as to the point and concise as Michael's had been. "And?" Michael prompted. "The cargo left the Cambodian port twelve days ago. Destination? The western coast of Florida. More specifically, the western Miami area." Michael wanted to slump back in his chair and let the relief wash through him. The western coast of Florida, two complete states and a whole fuck load of miles away. It didn't mean the situation was now out of his hands, but it did mean he had time to get Ms. Trouble to safety. He glanced up and directly into Ms. Trouble's large and questioning eyes. On his computer monitor, a picture on the AOL welcome screen flashed, drawing his attention. The picture was that of a still radar snap shot beside a head line that read: Is Hurricane Emilio Headed for the Casino? The headline would have been cute if it hadn't been so serious. Even so, Michael knew exactly what to use to persuade Lara to go at least two states and a whole lot of miles in the opposite direction of trouble this time. At least he thought he did. Except…. "You don't sound too thrilled with that news." "The course changed some five days into the trip when it became apparent their current track would take them directly into that hurricane that's bopping around in the Gulf."


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Bopping straight toward them was more like it. Fuck! No, the situation was certainly not out of his hands. If anything, it was about to crawl up his freaking shirtsleeves. "There's more," Stone said in a tone that somehow managed to sound both apologetic and excited. No doubt, the knuckle-headed field agent with the FBI was enjoying himself. He lived for this kind of covert, on-the-edge shit. "Somehow I knew there would be," Michael admitted with a despondent sigh. He knew what was coming even before it left Stone's mouth, and just like that all his relief and hope died. "The new drop off point is set in your back yard." Silver Springs. Double fuck! "Are you positive that hasn't changed again? Surely they realize Emilio is now in my back yard too. They would've been better off sticking with their original plans." "As it's turning out, they would have been. Yes. But no, I've got a man on the inside, Cosmo. Phay is adamant his men not change course again. It seems his second in command has been given an additional job once the delivery is made. A job that can only be carried out in Silver Springs." "Quit dicking around, Stone. What is it you haven't told me?" "Word is Phay wants former U.S. Navy SEAL Ryan Magee's head on a platter," Stone told Michael, dropping his biggest bomb of them all. "And he's ordered his men not to leave the area until they have him." **** The raindrops started to fall. Rhonda had been expecting it to happen soon. She was actually surprised and more than a bit grateful that the rain held off this long. If she'd had her way, she and Lucas would have already been out of town by now. If only she'd had her way. Beep. Beep, beep, beeeep. Preston laid on the car horn, shot the finger at the driver of the Chrysler Sedan in front of them, and bellowed a curse. The other car moved forward a half inch, then stopped again. Three heads turned to glare at Preston from the back seat of that car and Rhonda attempted to sink further into the passenger seat.

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"Why are we just sitting here, Daddy?" Lucas asked from his booster seat in the back. "Because these stupid mother fuckers don't know how to drive," Preston shot back. Then, as if to emphasize his point, when the pickup truck two spaces ahead of the Sedan inched forward another minute of a smidgen, Preston honked the horn again and made an impatient "move up the road" gesture with his hand to the family in the Sedan. "Please watch your language around Lucas," Rhonda said softly. Preston shot her a go to hell look. Anger and embarrassment bubbled in her throat and she swallowed it down, turned in her seat to face Lucas. "The traffic is really bad, sweetheart. A lot of people are trying to leave town before the storm gets here just like we are. Unfortunately, so many people trying to leave at once tends to cause traffic jams." "We should have left earlier," Lucas said. "Then maybe the traffic wouldn't be so bad." Why couldn't his father be so smart? Rhonda wondered but kept the question to herself. Even though their apartment was located on higher ground, she'd wanted to leave as soon as the local television stations began announcing evacuations of the lower lying areas. Preston, however, had insisted they wait. "We don't need to leave," he'd spat at her from his place sprawled on the sofa, TV remote in one hand and a bag of potato chips in the other. "These stupid people are panicking for nothing. It's just a stupid storm. A little wind, a little rain and of course the power will go out. Knowing the dammed power company around here, it'll probably be off for hours. The lazy bastards. We'll be fine right where we are." In a second floor apartment built in the early seventies? No way was Rhonda staying there, keeping her son there, through a hurricane. She'd been terrified at having to stay there a couple of years back when a tropical storm swept through the town. "We should have stayed where we were." Preston grumbled now and shot Rhonda an accusatory look. Yes, the fact they were stuck in grid-locked traffic was her fault. Eventually, the fact that they'd waited until the last minute to leave would be her fault too. Perfect Preston Ramsey, after all, was never to blame for anything. "We could go to Grams," Lucas suggested.


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"Uh, no. We can't. Like I want to sit around her fucking house listening to her shit for the rest of the night." Rhonda bit her tongue so hard she was almost certain she would draw blood. Commenting would only start an argument that would, no doubt, contain even more foul language. She hated fighting with Preston because everything she said was a compete waste of breath and fell on deaf ears. What she hated even more was to fight in front of Lucas. Rhonda turned back to her son. "It won't be much longer sweetheart. Why don't you play your game for a while?" "Yeah, right," Preston scoffed. "At this rate we're going to be stuck here for hours. I'm surrounded by fuckers that aren't moving. I can't even get somewhere to turn around and go back." No, Rhonda thought and settled back in her seat, stared out the passenger side window through the falling rain at the stationary wall of trees. There was no going back. But there was always forward. She would go forward. She and Lucas. It may be slow going, much like the line of cars stretching before her now. She wouldn't leave until she could give Lucas all he needed on her own but they would get there, eventually.

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Chapter 6 The car died. Out of the blue, with absolutely no warning or clue. Oh no. Not now. Please, not now. Tina caught herself just before she reflexively stomped on the brake pedal. Though no longer running, the car was still moving. It wasn't moving much faster than a turtle now that it lost all power, but the combination of the remaining momentum and the slight hill she'd been going down would at least allow her to coast to the side of the road. As long as she kept her foot off the brake. "Mom?" Timmy sat up straighter in the seat beside her. "Just a minute baby." The car had definitely lost all power because with the roar of the engine and the low beam of the headlights also went the windshield wipers. They'd stopped, making two long, narrow vertical black lines on the windshield, one of them directly in her line of sight. Not that she would be able to see even if it had stopped out of her way because, as if cued by the director on a movie set, right when the wipers halted, the bottom fell out of the sky. What began as a little sprinkle and then turned to a heavier mist, morphed into a torrential downpour that gave the old saying "raining cats and dogs" a whole new meaning. "I can't see anything, Mom." "Neither can I." But Tina had noticed just before everything went all creepy scary on her that there was no one else on the road. Tina turned the wheel and let the car ease to the side of the road. She checked to be sure it was completely on the shoulder, then put her foot on the brake, brought the car to a full stop. She knew this road, traveled it every day. Thick trees lined both sides of a two-lane street with a rocky shoulder on either side just wide enough for a car to park. But for the house long ago condemned at one end, the street was undeveloped, deserted. It was why she'd come this way. The main roads would be bumper to bumper with


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people trying to get out of town. People, she thought now, who could've helped her get the car started again. Tina closed her eyes, her throat tight with hope, and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. She took a deep, steady breath and tried again. Still nothing. "Alternator," she whispered. "Mom." Timmy's voice had gone quiet, barely louder than a whisper now. Tina opened her eyes and reached for him, splaying her hand on his thigh. "It looks like we have a problem kid-o." She never lied to Timmy. At least not when she could avoid it. Now was not one of those times. He was a smart kid and telling him everything was okay when it so obviously wasn't would only upset him more. So she went with the truth. "I'm pretty sure the alternator just went out." "Is that something that makes the car go?" "It's one of the things, yes." Tina laughed and made a mental note to start teaching the boy a little about cars. With all the time he spent around the men at the fire station she thought he would have learned some by now. What was it with men these days that didn't know jack diddly one about automotives? Wasn't fixing cars supposed to be a guy thing? "The alternator generates a current of power that is distributed to the various parts of the engine that need it. So, yes, without a working alternator, the car won't go." "So we have to walk?" Timmy looked pointedly out the windshield then back at Tina, his lips curving in a wide, only slightly tremulous smile. "And yet you smile about that. Sweetie, look out there! It's raining buckets. We'll drown if we try to walk to town from here." Timmy feigned a frustrated look, but his lips twitched. "You always find some excuse not to let me play in the rain." Tina blinked at him. Then she started to laugh, and he did too. She took off her seatbelt and leaned across the seat, pulled him into her arms. His seat belt was the only thing stopping her from dragging him into her lap. "Do you know how much I love you?" "Yep. On a scale of one to ten, you love me a five trillion." "I thought it was a five million." Tina had been telling him that all his life. On a scale of one to ten, I love you a five million. It was what her mother always said to her when she was young. "By now it should be a trillion." "Okay. I love you a million, trillion, zillion."

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"Zillion, trillion, million, Mom. Numbers are read from greatest to least." "And aren't you getting way to smart for me?" Tina laughed and ruffled his hair with her hand, getting an "Awe Mom, don't do that," just as she expected. "Mom," Timmy said, looking once more through the windshield as he settled back in his seat. "If you won't let me play in the rain this time, what are we going to do?" "That's a really good question, sweetheart." Tina sighed. "You know, right about now I'm really regretting turning down that cell phone Dean tried to give us." She hadn't needed another bill to pay, and she certainly hadn't been willing to let Dean and Veronica foot the bill for her. They did so much for her and Timmy free of charge already. Her pride could only handle so much. But wasn't it because of pride that she and Timmy were stranded now? If they had the cell phone they could call someone for help. Instead, they were stranded on the side of the road. "Too bad it's the alternator and not the battery. Then you could use that box thing Dean gave the car for Christmas last year." And hadn't that been a hoot? Dean bought the car a Christmas present. To mollify Tina who'd insisted he and Veronica brought them too much already, he'd claimed this one was for the car. Grudgingly, she'd accepted the extra gift, a portable rechargeable power station also known as a… "Jump box!" Tina exclaimed and smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Duh. How come I didn't think of that? Timmy, you're a genius!" "I am?" "You bet ya." Tina snatched the keys from the ignition. "A car with a dead alternator can be jumped off just like one with a dead battery. Most of the time," she quickly added because wouldn't it be her luck to tell Timmy that only to have her plan not work? She turned to him, all the while silently praying this would get them on the road again. Willy Nelson, don't fail me now. "Here's what we're going to do." **** "Are you crazy?" Ryan Magee shouted over the howling wind and relentless pounding of the rain. Of course, with her head shoved under the


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hood and the noise of the storm kicking up around them, Tina didn't even notice him. But, oh boy, did he notice her. Mile long legs stretched from a pair of black cotton drawstring shorts that rode low on her hips and high on her thighs. He'd dammed near wrecked his truck when he'd gotten a flash of those legs through the pouring rain. And that ass—sweet baby Jesus, his hands started to tingle at the mere thought of getting them on that Valentine-heartshaped derriere. She shot him a look as he stepped around the front of her car, one thin eyebrow shooting up in question. Darn if that eyebrow wasn't as perfectly curved as the rest of her. "What are you doing here?" "I was about to ask you the same question." At least he would have as soon as he managed to think past the image of her in his stand-up shower, naked, the water from the showerhead streaming down her flesh…. She pulled her head from beneath the hood and straightened. Ryan wasn't sure which position was worse, her leaning over the front of the car or her standing straight in front of him because, hello Penthouse, her cut-off shirt was white, wet and Saran Wrap clingy. "The alternator died," she told him. As she spoke, she gathered her long, dark, sopping wet hair in her hands, twisted it a few times and then let it fall down the center of her back. "The alternator," Ryan repeated dumbly. Heat flared in her green eyes, reminding him of a four-leaf clover next to a Leprechaun's pot of gold. Of course, so far Ryan hadn't had the luck with this woman a four-leaf clover was fabled to provide. She planted her fisted hands on her slender hips and pinned him with a glare that turned the falling rain around them to steam. He actually thought he heard the sizzle as the raindrops landed on her smooth, wickedly tempting flesh. "Yes, alternator. You know Magee, not only am I a slut and a piss poor mother, but I also know a bit about cars. I learned how an alternator works last week when I was fucking an auto mechanic while Timmy was at Dean's house wondering why I wasn't at home with him." Ouch! Okay, he probably deserved that and yeah, if he'd had any doubts at all about just how badly he'd pissed her off yesterday they were gone now. Ryan stared back at her, completely unable to capture even an ounce of his own temper. No doubt about it, this shorter, shapelier, much smaller

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woman had just managed to take him down a notch or two or ten. Effectively and completely. He opened his mouth, shut it when he realized he didn't have a clue what to say only to open it again a mere quarter of a second later. He probably looked like a freaking guppy, but damn, the woman's sizzling words and flaming ferocity left him speechless. "What's the matter? Did I take the words right out of your mouth? Not sure what else you can add since I covered it all so perfectly?" "I didn't... That wasn't what... I wouldn't have..." Ryan made himself stop. At this rate he would continue to babble meaninglessly, getting both of them absolutely nowhere. First things first. He had to somehow put out this fuse he'd unintentionally lit on this stick of dynamite before she really exploded. He needed her to listen and let him help because, whether they got the hell off this road and to shelter or not, that hurricane was rapidly on its way. Ryan lowered his gaze, took a deep breath and then rushed head on into the smoldering flames. This time he managed to make it without babbling like a stupid fool. "I never said any of that," he told her in a voice that was both calm and honest even if a bit loud because dammed if the rain didn't seem to be coming down even harder now. The wind had picked up too. A particularly strong gust cut through the air, and he saw Tina sway. She actually had to put a hand on the front of the car to catch her balance. Balance he instinctively helped her retain by reaching out to grab her free arm which she unceremoniously jerked out of his grasp. "No. You didn't because I said it for you. I saw the look on your face. I know what you were—" "You surprised me. Alright?" Ryan yelled over both her and the roar of Mother Nature. "And no, nothing you said was even remotely close to what I was thinking. That look on my face wasn't because I was about to call you a stupid slut or any of that other shit you said. It was because I didn't know what to say. You caught me off guard. Hell, you want the complete truth? You impressed the shit out of me." Well, that shut her up. She'd quit yelling at him, stopped accusing him of saying things that never left his mouth, and now it was her turn to do the whole speechless guppy thing. Way to go Ryan. Except the fact that he'd managed to get her attention was a good thing because drowning on the side


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of old Highway 90 wasn't exactly how he'd planned to go when his time came. "Look, you can yell at me and call me names all you want. Heck, I might even let you get in another slap or two while you're at it. But how about we postpone all of that until we get out of this freaking storm? Get Timmy out of the car and both of you get into my truck. I'll take you some place safe." "I can't leave my car on the side of the road. What if a tree falls on it?" Ryan glanced over her head at the wall of trees lining the roadside. With the way most of them were swaying and leaning in this ferocious wind, the chance of one smashing the car seemed more than a mere possibility. "If it is the alternator—" "I've already told you that it is." "If it is the alternator," Ryan started again. Damn but the woman could be a pit bull when she believed herself right about something. "We might be able to jump start it." "What do you think I was trying to do with this thing?" She pointed to the jump box she'd somehow managed to wedge between the car's frame and the upper part of the wheel well. "I'm certainly not trying to turn it into a new hood ornament." "You know, Tina—" "I'm being a bitch." Once again, she spoke right over him. The woman could put quite a bit of volume to her voice when she wanted to. He supposed that came with being a mother. "And I guess I should apologize for that," she continued, sounding anything but sorry. "Don't worry, sweetheart. You can apologize to me later." He knew it was the wrong thing to say when those eyes of hers turned the color of molten lava. He bit the inside of his cheek because he may not have been smart enough to know what to say at the right moment but he sure wasn't dumb enough to laugh when she got that devil woman look in her eyes. "I was kidding. I swear. Kidding. It was a joke. You know, funny, ha ha." "Yeah, I just bet you were. Really funny, Magee. You're a regular comedian now, aren't you? A little advice though, don't quit your day job, you bastard." "Actually, son of a bitch works better. I had a father. He just chose not to stick around long. Look, you don't need this right now." At that, her eyes

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narrowed in suspicion. "Neither of us does. We're working on being caught in the middle of a hurricane out here. What a time to have car trouble, right? I get it. It's no big deal, you're being a bitch and all. And truly, I was just joking about that whole apology thing. Everyone is on edge with this storm coming. Get in there and try to start this thing." She hesitated only a moment then did one better. She moved around him, tapped on the window. The engine made a rollover sound as it attempted to come to life and Ryan realized she must have given Timmy instructions on how to start the car before he pulled onto the scene. The rollover sound stopped and three seconds passed then the sound returned. The engine turned once, twice and yes, third time was the charm because the car fired to life with a sputter. "Tell Timmy to put his foot on the gas, lightly rev the engine," Ryan shouted, but a sudden crash of thunder drowned out his words. Still, she must have included that in her instructions before getting out of the car because the motor revved. It roared as though preparing to take off from the starting line in a sprint car race then quickly backed off to a low but consistent RPM. The boy gave the car just enough gas to keep it from going dead again. "Smart boy," Ryan commented as he closed the hood. Tina turned to him, a smile that somehow managed to be smug, knowing and proud all at the same time curving those lips of pure erotic fantasy. But before she could speak their attention was drawn to the sky where another rumble of thunder rippled through the smoky gray clouds followed almost immediately by a streak of lightning so bright it lit the deserted road like a strobe. "This storm is getting worse." Ryan moved around the car until he stood within arms reach of Tina. It wasn't this sudden crazy need to shield her from a lightning bolt that had him almost running to her. He was simply tired of shouting. That's all it was. "Thanks for your help," she told him, though her tone clearly added the words, even though we both know I didn't need it, to the sentence. She turned to get into the car, but Ryan caught her arm. "Where are you going?" "The shelter at the high school."


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The high school that was still a good five miles through grid-locked city streets from their current location. It was the closest open shelter located further into the city on higher ground and far from the beaches. But making it that far in the kind of traffic between here and there in a car that had already died once was simply too risky. Add to that the fact that the weather was worsening and…. "You'll never make it that far." She glanced at the car, at the sky, then looked back at him. She knew he was right. She just didn't want to admit it. If she'd been alone he might have let her try if for no other reason but to salvage her pride and prove her wrong. He might have, but probably not. But she wasn't alone and he knew she was thinking the same thing. Especially when she shot a quick look through the driver door window. With the rain falling at the force of a high pressured carwash, there was no way she could see anything more through that window than Timmy's silhouette sitting behind the steering wheel, but that silhouette was enough. Some things were far more important than pride and in Tina's life that young boy topped the charts. Still, Ryan said it anyway. It never hurt to add a little reinforcement to an obvious fact. "Even if I follow you all the way there, we may not make it in time. The car could die again. This storm could become more intense. Or worse, the car could die again and the storm could become more intense. We may not have as much time to get to safety. It's too dangerous, Tina." "Then were should Timmy and I go?" **** "How are you holding up?" Bailey shot Tripp a glance over her shoulder, her long ponytail swinging from side to side with the motion and his step actually faltered. In the snap of a finger, his mind played Photo Shop Pro on the image. Remove the clothes, add a seductive tilt to her luscious lips, put that sexual gleam back in her incredible eyes. Good. Now zoom in and oh yeah. "I'm fine. What's up?" Tripp blinked and the computer screen in his head complete with photo fabulous Bailey went black. Not that the real life Bailey was any less fabulous. This one was simply dressed. Fully dressed, he noted, in boots,

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bunker pants, a uniform Navy blue department T-shirt they all wore when on duty and a pair of wide strapped red suspenders holding up the heavy ass pants. The whole ensemble was about as unflattering as a paper sack, yet on Bailey each oversized, hefty, unappealing accessory screamed of pure wicked temptation. "I thought since we had a few minutes of down time this morning, you might want to pick up where we left off at my place yesterday." Bailey slid him a look of flaming female hunger, and his flesh started to sizzle. Holy macros, she never looked at him like that at the station. Come to think of it, she never looked at him quite like that before yesterday. Tripp wasn't sure what to do with that look, what to say. He had dreamed of moments like this when this woman would finally allow him to see inside her thoughts, inside her heart. Now that she was doing it, he didn't have clue one how to respond. What was that old proverb? Oh yeah, careful what you wished for. Boy howdy was she proving that adage right? "You mean here?" she asked, and her voice was all warm honey and teasing promise. "Where any one of the boys could walk out at any minute. I'm sorry, Lieutenant but I don't think that's such a good idea." Tripp's cock flexed behind the zipper of his pants. It liked the idea. Thankfully though, today his upper brain claimed control of the senses first. "I meant our talk. You never told me what brought you to my house." "You have down time?" She leapt back to his earlier comment so fast it almost felt as though the brief conversation between then and now never happened. "I'm glad someone does because I'm working my tail off here." Tripp realized in a sudden burst of brilliance that commenting on what a mighty fine ass he thought she had was probably not the best course of action at this moment. Maybe five seconds ago, it would have been. Instead, he'd embarrassed her. Dammit, he could see that much in her jerky movements as she loaded emergency equipment into the compartments of Engine 1, opened other compartments and began to empty them to swap for fresh gear and tools. Still, her embarrassment wasn't nearly as bad as the hurt he sensed beneath. "Bailey, you're killing me here. Why won't you tell me what happened yesterday? I was under the impression you came to me because you needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen and understand."


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"I did, Tripp. I needed to talk and you were the first person I thought of, the only one I felt comfortable enough to go to, but then I got there and we… and I… and then." Tripp nodded. Yeah, there was no need for her to go into detail about what happened. Or, mores the pity, what almost happened. He remembered each and every second in full Technicolor detail. No Photo Shop Pro needed for those brightly beautiful images. "Talk about being saved by the bell, huh?" Her laugh sounded shaky, as if she were a woman on the edge. "Or in our case, I guess it would be saved by the tones." What was she saying? That she was glad they had been interrupted before they made it to his bed? Tripp stared at her and let all of his confusion and even the hint of anger he felt beginning to simmer far below the surface show. He'd tried to stop them, to stop her. He'd attempted more than once to put on the brakes, to talk about what bothered her before things between them escalated to get-it-on-ville. She was the one who persisted and now she was the one claiming to have been saved when the emergency tones dropped. "What we did, what we were about to do, it shouldn’t have happened. It's a good thing it didn't. I mean, it's been hard enough these past few months playing the friends card without complicating it all with sex." Her voice had dropped to a barely audible whisper by the time she finished her last sentence, and she moved closer to Tripp rather than raising her voice. "I know I instigated what happened yesterday. Hell, I was practically begging you to have sex with me. But I shouldn't have. Not yet. Not until everything is in place." "Until what is in place? What are you talking about?" The old Jimmy Davis hit You Are My Sunshine began to play from a pouch on her belt, and she froze. It was pretty freaky to watch. Tripp hadn't known a person could really go so still and remain in the land of the living, but at that moment Bailey did. Every limb went mannequin stiff and for a moment he even wondered if she'd stopped breathing. Then he saw the glisten of tears pool in her eyes and knew whatever had brought her to him yesterday, whatever drove her nearly into his bed, whatever made her act so confusing now, all stemmed from the same source. Apparently the source

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had a name too. Mom. His conclusion was confirmed a heartbeat later when Bailey finally moved, answered the ring. "Hello Mom." She turned her back on Tripp but not before he saw one of those tears spill over to trickle down her cheek. "How are the seminars going?" **** Then where should Timmy and I go? Ryan's answer had been to follow him back to his place. Tina stood in the narrow entrance hall just inside the front door and wondered, not for the first time since climbing back behind the wheel of her dying old car, if she hadn't lost her marbles. She'd done some pretty insane stuff in her twentyeight years, but this one really topped the cake. Following home a man she craved more than oxygen, who could piss her off even as he aroused her to the point of sexual overload was definite proof she'd gone loco. But loco or not, what a way to spend her remaining days before the men in the white coats arrived to ship her away to the funny farm. That thought came to her as she spotted Ryan heading back to her and Timmy from a room off the short hallway dead ahead. He'd slipped out of his boots as they entered the entrance hall and now she saw he'd stripped off his saturated shirt and jeans. He walked quickly down the hall, toward them, his arms laden with towels and what looked to be a T-shirt and a lousy excuse for a bathrobe thrown over one shoulder, wearing only, damn Skippy, a pair of boxer shorts. Tina felt herself begin to shake, and she wasn't entirely sure she could blame it on the fact that her own clothes were both sodden and sticking to her like glue. She tried not to look at him as he approached but, holy cow, how did a woman not look at such a prime male specimen coming toward her? Some men looked better clothed but such was definitely not the case with Ryan Magee. The man was, without a doubt, lust incarnate. He was heat jacked up to a level of ten thousand and two with outrageously well toned arms and broad chest and pectorals that set off her perfection personified meter with a series of whistles and bells she didn't know it could make. The man was sheer male chocolate, and Tina's hunger rose.


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She might have made a sound, a slight whimper maybe, because his gaze flicked to hers, locked, and a small grin tilted his lips. It was one of those purely arrogant, egotistical, I-know-what-you're-looking-at grins that should have instantly pushed her piss me off button, but instead, dammed if her mouth didn't water more. With a body like that and muscles so obviously gained from hard labor and training, she supposed he had every right to be arrogant. Though the moment he opened his mouth all bets were off because right to arrogance or not, he would surely find a way to jump on her buttons with both feet any second now. He always did. "I brought towels for both of you. A bath robe for you." He held out a dress robe of black satin that was short and definitely intended for sex appeal. It was possible his cheeks even turned a bit pink but that part was probably just the lighting. "A gift from a misguided lady friend." He said it as though an explanation was important and, hello, maybe that had been a twinge in his cheeks after all. Tina didn't miss his word choice either. Lady friend. What? Was he afraid she might think he may have actually had a girlfriend at some point in the recent past? Then again, she supposed the word girlfriend would rankle to a player like Ryan Magee. What she knew of the man put him in the category of sex 'em and leave 'em man. And he dared to imply that she was a slut! "A girl bought that for you?" Timmy wrinkled his nose in his classic yuck face, and Ryan chuckled. "Yeah. Sorry," he said to Tina. "It's uh, the best I could do there. I'm not much for bathrobes." No. She didn't figure he would be. It was far easier to picture this man streaking through the house naked and she so didn't need that image in her head right now. She took the robe and towel with a quiet thanks, briefly met his gaze. His eyes glinted with amusement and a hint of knowledge as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. Damn but the man was a perceptive son of a bitch. She started to comment but what was there to say? She'd been picturing him naked. He knew it. It couldn't get more simple than that. Rather than wait for her to stammer out an excuse for eyeballing his half naked, scrumdiliumptious body, he flashed her another of those pantywetting smiles and turned his attention to Timmy.

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"I brought you a towel, too, big guy, and this." He held out a rumpled looking T-shirt, black with a faded Pantera logo printed across the top. It had clearly been a favorite at one time. "Hey, cool shirt. Who's Pantera?" "A heavy metal band." "I've never heard of them. Are they any good?" "They were. The band broke up a few years back and then the guitarist—" Ryan broke off in mid-sentence, and Tina understood why. He was uncertain how much he should tell a nine-year-old and for that, the level of respect she'd began to gain for this man when it came to his interactions with Timmy, stepped up a couple of notches. She didn't listen to heavy metal but knew those who did, remembered the news reports of the shooting. "Do you remember the guitarist killed on stage last year?" She asked Timmy and didn't miss the look of surprise that washed over Ryan's face. "I think so. That was that Dime guy, right?" "Dimebag Darrell," Ryan nodded. "I don't believe in sheltering him from the outside world," Tina told Ryan. "We live in a very violent society, what with the wars and hate crimes, gangs and terrorism, and I don't think it's right to let him grow up thinking otherwise." "I agree. I'm just, well, I didn't expect…." He stopped, shook his head, and turned his attention to Timmy. "It's going to be way too big. I don't have anything in here that's small enough to fit you. It might smell a bit musty, but you're looking at the last clean shirt in the house kid. I'm not too good at keeping up with the laundry." "It would probably be better if I just ran back out to the car. Our suitcases are in the trunk. We have dry clothes that fit in there." Ryan looked at Tina, nodded. "Give me your keys, and I'll go after them. Although, have you glanced out the window since we got inside? The wind out there has turned pretty ferocious. Surprisingly enough, we still have power. I can toss the clothes you're wearing in for a quick wash and dry, hope the power holds out that long and neither of us will have to brave that storm outside again for a while." Tina shot a look through the crisscrossed masking tape over the window beside the front door, looked back at Ryan. She forced herself to meet his


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gaze and not, absolutely not, let her own gaze drift down to his wide neck, his well-defined collarbone, the smooth bronze skin of his chest and lower. God but being alone with this man in his house this way put her hormones on high alert! If not for Timmy looking on, she wasn't sure she wouldn't have jumped Ryan Magee by now and, Christ, she didn't even like the man. Although, okay, she thought she figured him out, and if she were right, her outlook on his attitude might just require a bit of revamping. "Are you an only child?" Ryan blinked at her, and a "what the fuck" expression quickly overtook his face. "Why?" Tina shrugged. She unfolded the towel he'd handed her and began to towel dry her hair, but she kept her gaze on him, enjoying the confusion she'd put in his eyes. "You are, aren't you? It explains a lot. That's all." Before he could say anything else, she moved to Timmy, began to help him peel off his sodden clothes and dry before he put on the t-shirt. "I'm going to, uh, go see if I can scrounge some more clean clothes. For me," Ryan added when Tina shot a glance up at him. "The laundry room is off the kitchen when the two of you, uh, get finished here." Tina bit the inside of her cheek. She should let it go, she knew. He was after all being so kind, so considerate for a change. And that in itself set her alarm bells to ringing deafeningly and menacingly. Why was he suddenly being so nice? Despite what she thought she figured out about him, this softer side of Ryan Magee simply didn't compute. Unless…. "I thought you did that on purpose." Rather than going into specifics in front of Timmy, she let her gaze slowly slide down Ryan's half-naked body. It cost her. Boy did it ever cost her! By the time she pulled her gaze up to meet his once more, she was breathing hard, sweat trickling down the center of her back, her panties nearly as soaked from her own juices as her outer clothes were from her stint in the rain and fighting hard not to show any of it. Still, the spark of anger she spotted in his eyes and the grim set he put to his lips made it clear he understood. "You know, to make it easier for me to apologize." "Mom, I can't find the—Never mind. I got it." Tina glanced at Timmy and swallowed a laugh. The shirt was so large on him it lost all shape, fitting more like a potato sack over his scrawny

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nine-year-old frame. "How soaked are your underwear? Do they need a pass through the dryer too?" "Eww. You want me to run around without underwear? Gross! I'd rather go around wet." Tina heard Ryan chuckle at that and snickered a bit herself. "Suit yourself." She shrugged and pushed herself to her feet. "Is there a room or something where I can change? Or should I just—" She let her gaze move around the narrow entrance hall before landing on him once more. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Start apologizing." Ryan closed his eyes, all amusement falling away from his chiseled features, and he sighed. "I've already told you that I— No. You know what, Tina? Why don't we call a truce, okay? Can we please just call a truce, at least for now?" He didn't wait for her to answer, but turned instead and moved back down the hall, presumably to look for himself something more presentable to wear.


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Chapter 7 The bathrobe had been a bad idea. Ryan had thought it would cover Tina's sweetly rounded, sinfully tempting body more than one of his Tshirts. Boy, had he been wrong. In hindsight, what he should have given her was the ankle length leather trench coat he kept in the jacket closet because, hell-o Hugh Hefner, Tina Walker parading around his house in black satin that, even several sizes too large, didn't fail to form to her every dickthrobbing, mind numbing curve put her in steep competition with the year's Playboy centerfold favorite. Ryan quickly turned his back as she entered his living room, glad he managed to find a semi-clean pair of jeans on his bedroom floor to replace the boxers he'd stripped down to when they first arrived. He really hadn't meant to be suggestive, walking out to Tina and Timmy in essentially nothing but his underwear. He'd simply been attempting to shed some of the clothing that, once drenched, weighed down his ability to move swiftly. Tina, of course, got the entirely wrong idea and, yeah, she'd had to bring up that apology crack, hadn't she? Problem was, that apology crack had been the prelude to the gigantic stiffy he was currently sporting. Then she had to walk through the house like a porn star fashion model, adding the final aphrodisiac to making his cock achingly hard and torturously uncomfortable inside the confines of his denim pants. Better than the pop tent he would be demonstrating if he still wore the boxers, he reminded himself and drew his attention back to the call on his cell. "Are you sure you've got the right information, Lieutenant? I don't know how long it's been since you've caught the latest on the Weather Channel, but we've got one hell of a nasty hurricane about to slap our asses around in a few hours."

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"Michael Cosmos. You know him, right?" Ziegler asked in a tone so laid back Ryan pictured him sitting at his desk, his feet propped on the top and a soda can in his free hand. Of course, he could just as easily be in the middle of a knife fight with an Iraqi terrorist. The man was that good. "Local boy with the DEA." "Yeah, I know him." And didn't that clear up a suspicion or two? Like what the DEA agent had been doing keeping company with none other than Lara Hampton the day of the open house at the fire station. Ryan knew since her rescue by the SEALs two years back that Lara had become a bit of a spokeswoman using both her super model looks and her clout as the daughter of a United States Senator to lobby against drug trafficking in America. Until now, her focus had been centered on the sunshine state. Miami and Key West laid claim to much of the high trafficking on the east coast. And hadn't she picked a bad time to exchange sunshine for Magnolias, shifting her attention from the East Coast of Florida to the Gulf Coast, namely Silver Springs and surrounding areas? He wondered briefly if she realized she had not one monster currently chasing her shapely derriere but an entire pack of merry goons expected to arrive just in time to enjoy the party. "Cosmos has been in contact with Cameron Stone from the Waterston FBI office. Stone has a man on the inside," Ziegler said. "Don't ask for names or specifics because I don't know them. All I can tell you, Magee, is that the info is on the mark. The threat is real." "Roger that, sir." "I take it you are no longer in contact with Lara Hampton?" The question was asked casually, with no hint of disgust or recrimination in the commander's tone. "No sir. I haven't been since…." Since less than forty-eight hours after her rescue when she walked out of his one bedroom apartment after a night of marathon thank you sex and out of his life. It was the way most of his encounters with women happened. Just the way he liked it, with no complications, no commitments, no strings. "Yeah, I didn't think so." Ryan took several steps across the room, attempting to put some distance between himself and Tina. "I did see her a couple of days ago with Michael Cosmos," he told his former commander, dropping his voice an


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extra notch. "I wouldn't worry about her, sir. If Cosmos is where you're getting your information then he has no doubt shared it with her. Probably brought it to the attention of her father by now too. Cosmos has got her back." "Yeah? And who's going to watch yours until we get there?" Until we…what? "Planning a trip to the casinos in the near future, Commander?" "It's been a while since I've lost my shirt at a blackjack table," Ziegler said easily. "That is assuming, of course, that all the blackjack tables are still standing after Emilio pays his impending visit. Just want you to know you aren't alone, Magee." He cleared his throat and when he spoke again his tone was back to that of the gruff commanding officer."We're just waiting for the all clear. As soon as Emilio is out of our way, the team will be gracing your doorstep with our lovely faces." Ryan had to laugh at that. "I can't wait." "I bet you can't. Cabelly's already got a song ready for you." And with that friendly warning, Ziegler cut the connection. Ryan snapped his cell phone shut and turned, grinning from ear to ear. He felt the grin morph almost instantly into a lustful leer when he focused on Tina. She had stopped by the edge of the sofa, one slender, lightly bronzed leg draped on the arm and seemed to be examining her nails as she waited for him to get off the phone. Her position, though completely relaxed and nonchalant, caused the sides of the robe to part, exposing so much of her left thigh it nearly threw him into cardiac arrest. All that smooth skin glistening with a natural sheen had him nearly dropping to his knees, the longing to worship her so strong it tore through him like a wild animal in heat. Hell, he was a wild animal in heat and when the realization hit that dropping to his knees would then put him in almost perfect alignment to feast on the treasure the robe still managed to conceal he nearly whimpered. He didn't think it was intentional, her coming so close to putting herself on display for him. A week ago, heck, even a day or two ago, he would have thought otherwise but she'd started to change his mind in Dean’s kitchen and much of what she'd done since only continued to put his perception of her on the rewind. She didn't believe so though. No. She still believed he thought of her as a slut, a whore, a bad mother, the worst possible of female classifications and of course, much of his comments had done little to

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reverse the damage that nearly two years of cold shoulders and icy glares had caused. Yet, still she had come home with him. Figure that one out, Magee. He decided not to even try. Figuring out anything about women was a mission he'd accepted a big fat failure on long ago. He’d spend time with them—not a lot, but enough to carry out his intentions. He’d wine and dine them if necessary, get off a nut or two but never get attached, never want more, and never, ever attempt to figure them out. "Did you get Timmy settled in?" She startled at his question, and for one dick enthralling moment, he thought she might jump right out of her robe. His robe. Geezus but this was weird. She didn't though. Instead, she quickly composed herself. She leapt from the arm rest, straightened the robe until it fell flat and stood straight beside the sofa. He noticed through all of that, she did fail to hide the twinge of pink that rose to her cheeks. And damn if that didn’t make him want her all the more. Yeah, this was really weird. Not just the having Tina in his living room looking like sex for sale, but the knowledge that it was completely unintentional. Everything about her was so extraordinarily exotic he found himself both wanting to toss her over the arm of the sofa to have his way with her drive-me-crazy body and run away screaming. "He's claimed a spot in your, umm, playroom." The corners of her lips twitched at the word and dammed if Ryan's dick didn't flex in response. Tina Walker had one of the sexiest mouths he'd ever set his lips on. And boy howdy, the mere memory of kissing those lips had his dick on the verge of starting the tango in his jeans, it flexed so violently. "You've got his favorite game, Medal of Honor: Rising Sun. As long as the charge holds out on the PSP, he'll be entertained." "It will keep for a few hours, especially if he has the system plugged in while the power is on." Ryan pocketed his cell and then wished he hadn't because now he had nothing to do with his hands. Except think about what he wanted to do with them, where he wanted to put them. The oddity of this situation should have been enough to toss an entire bucket of water on the raging flame in his cock. Sex Goddess or sex for sale, it didn't matter. It was the conversation, the way they seemed to be talking about their son that made this so freaking weird. Timmy was Tina's son. Not


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his. He liked the kid but that didn't mean he wanted to play father. This silently mutual and deadly attraction game he and Tina were playing would soon pass. Taking with it all of these silly and completely alien feelings of warmth and comfort and, Christ almighty, family. "Thank you for being so nice to Timmy." Ryan shrugged and turned his back on her because the way she looked when she talked about her son, the love and devotion he saw in everything she did for and with Timmy made the heart of the little boy still inside him bleed as it had so long ago. God, how could he not have seen how unlike his own mother this woman was? Because his own mother had loved him too. Despite her neglect and borderline abuse, she'd loved him just as Tina loved Timmy. "I was just giving him something to keep him occupied. Those portable game systems make for great babysitters," he said, hardening his memories and his heart as he moved closer to the window. Two inch thick pieces of plywood covered the double paned glass but he'd left a small space, not more than an inch wide, at the edge on one side. It was just large enough to offer him a glimpse of the storm. And inside, behind him, he felt a different storm begin to build and swirl. "Is that the voice of experience talking?" Ryan looked at her over his shoulder. She had moved again, this time only as far as to lean back against the wall between the sofa and the doorway. Again her position—one foot propped low on the wall behind her, arms folded loosely under her breasts—put a bit more of that delicious looking left thigh into view, but this time when he let his gaze drop there, let it linger and heat, she didn't seem to care. So he gave himself a moment to feed. He let his gaze rake from her thigh to her toes, drinking in the sight as if it were a warm shot of bourbon. It would taste the same, he bet. Her flesh beneath his lips, his tongue. A warm, biting treat that burned all the way down, intoxicated the mind, the body, the senses. Her left foot slowly lowered to the floor, the leg straightening, and he tore his gaze away and up to meet hers. There was a satisfied smile on her face. No. That wasn't entirely true because her sugary, bow-shaped lips weren't curved up in a smile. Still, it was there, hidden in the golden features, barely visible in her take-me-to-bed eyes.

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"Aren't your clothes dry yet?" The question came out more sharply than he intended, but she seemed unfazed by his ferocity, almost as though she'd been expecting it, waiting for it. "Almost. About ten or fifteen more minutes should do it. Remember Ryan, it was you who gave me this robe and absolutely nothing else to put on. It was also you who refused to let either of us brave the storm and go out to my car for more clothes." Her tone hadn't changed. She didn't sound mocking or condescending. She didn't even sound sultry. More sultry than normal, he amended, because her voice, no matter what the tone, always sounded like red velvet and lace with a little bit of black leather and whips just below the surface. Instead, she sounded as though they still discussed Timmy or something far more mundane. "I didn't have anything else for you to wear," he ground through his teeth. Except for the trench coat in the hall closet he was still dammed tempted to drag out because another ten or fifteen minutes of seeing her dressed like that and his dick would be in traction. "Then stop looking at me like you want to toss me on the coffee table and sample me like an all you can eat buffet." He did. He made himself stare out the inch of space left in the window instead because after that comment, he couldn't look at her at all. Damn but he did want to do all of that stuff she just said and then some. And she knew it too. So much for his poker face. Not only that, but he had managed to let her get the upper hand, again. She had taken his bubbling temper, balled it up with a bit of her own sassiness and the keen perception she was obviously starting to develop when it came to him and volleyed it back in his face. "I spoke with the captain. He wants me to stay here with you and Timmy instead of coming back to the station. He said he would feel better knowing the two of you are not alone." "Does that mean I owe you an apology because Dean wrecked your plans for escape? Oh no, wait. I forgot. The kind of apology you're looking for is—" "Stop." Ryan didn't shout the word but the forcefulness with which he delivered it still returned the desired response. He spun from the window, able to look at her again now that he felt back in control, felt his temper once more in his grasp without all of her drive-me-wild additives. Yes, her


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eyes did widen at his terse order, and she obeyed, not uttering another word to finish the sentence. It should have been enough. He should have left it at that, but he didn't. He couldn't. Instead, he moved toward her. One step and then two, three. "I called a truce, remember? That means no more twisting around things I've said and throwing them in my face. No more taking things I didn't say or, Christ, what you think you see in my face and reworking them to mean what you want them to." "Then you need to adhere to the rules of a truce as well." She pushed herself away from the wall, returning fire with her own words in a tone as equally clipped but in control as his as she stepped toward him. "You need to stop trying to start fights with me." "I'm starting fights with you? You're the one who keeps bringing up—" "And if you're going to say something or look at me like…like…the way you've been looking at me, then you need to admit what it is you really want, Magee." She was a mere step or two away from him now but still she kept coming. He took a step back and then another. "You're the one who started with this freaking warped sense of who I am, of what I am. I've proven you wrong and still you don't want to admit it. Why, Ryan?" Ryan's lower back hit the windowsill. "Is it because, now that you know the truth, you've decided you want me?" **** She knew it was. Ryan Magee had wanted her even before he began to see the real her. But now that he was beginning to see the truth, he wanted her with a fury that nearly took her breath away. It was there in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, in the way he was so quick to anger now at the mere suggestion of anything sexual. Yet, there was something else there too. In his eyes behind the flaming desire, Tina saw something else she never thought she would see in this man.

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Fear. She scared him. Wanting her dammed near terrified this big, courageous man with an iron-hard body and nerves of steel. But why? He was watching her now in a way that both aroused her and made her want to retreat. She knew retreating was what she should do. It would be the sane and responsible thing to do. But, darn it, she was tired of always being the responsible one. Just because she was a mother didn't mean she didn't harbor a secret need to be reckless now and again. His teeth were tightly clenched. So much so that a muscle in his jaw jumped and Tina boldly reached to touch it. She grazed the back of one finger over that muscle, over the sandpaper feel a few hours worth of growth gave to his jaw line, and the bolt of electric shock that shot through her finger nearly made her jerk back in reflex. "You do. Don't you, Ryan? You want me." She dropped her voice even lower, almost to a whisper. "You want me, and it really pisses you off." She let her finger trace the hard line of his jaw, skim down the taut muscle in his neck, move over his collarbone. His heart was racing. She felt it in her fingertip when she brushed over the pulse in his throat. Her heart was pounding too. Nervousness and desire mixing into a potent concoction that sped her own pulse faster than any caffeinated beverage ever could. He didn't touch her, didn't stop her, didn't do anything more than stand there and watch her with that expression of cautious warning and heat. Fire. It blazed in his eyes so hot and intense it was a wonder she didn't go up in flames. He was testing her. Or at least she thought he was. So she pushed it a little farther, playing a new game of let's see what you will do when I do this. She moved a half a step closer, until the front of the satin robe brushed against his bare chest. He'd found a pair of jeans to cover his boxers, but he hadn't bothered with a shirt. She wondered only half in jest if that was because he'd truly given Timmy his last clean one or if he simply wanted to tease her by strutting around shirtless with all of those hard muscles and mouthwatering ridges in full, unobstructed view. She took a deep breath, albeit a shaky one and pushed the envelope even more. Her hand flattened on his chest, and she leaned in, traced the outline of his collarbone with her tongue. God but he tasted as good as he smelled, all musky and male with a faint hint of the natural scent left behind by the


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rain. She wanted to taste more of him, to lick her way across and down his amazing chest and washboard abs. She wanted to continue to explore him with her tongue, dipping it down beneath the waistband of his jeans until she found the one part of him she was truly dying to taste. But she didn't. She pulled back instead, allowing herself only that one leisurely sample before she cut off all urges for more with a sharpness that grated at her senses and made her want to scream. When she looked up, she found he'd tilted his head back, rested it on the window glass and closed his eyes. He stayed that way for more heartbeats than she could count before he finally lifted his head. She let her hand glide over the heated flesh of his chest. His hard body felt so unbelievably good under her palm that she nearly groaned. She did make a soft sound that wasn't quite a squeak but more than a gasp of surprise when he pinned her hand to his body beneath one of his. "Don't play with me, Tina." His tone was husky, almost gruff, but full of an authoritative ring that danced down her spine and made spasms of excitement clinch at her insides. His eyes had gone almost impossibly dark, darker even than they had been when he'd kissed her at Dean's. Was that anger or desire that turned them such a deep shade of brown, like a dark chocolate candy bar? She couldn't be sure because she sensed both in the tautness of his body beneath her palm, in the quickening of his breath. Tina glanced down at the hand he held, looked at where he'd stopped it midway on his abs. A long moment passed before she realized his words weren't in reference to that hand which had been on a definite track south to his cock. But no. That wasn't what he meant, and his next gruff words confirmed it. "I don't like games, and right now you're playing with fire, babe." "And I'm bound to get burned." He hadn't left the sentence dangling, but she finished it for him anyway. "Isn't that how it goes, Ryan? I have to confess I'm disappointed. I would have thought even a big, bad firefighter such as yourself could come up with a better line than that. Besides, you're wrong. If anyone is playing here, it's you playing with me." "Not yet, but if you don't back off, sweetheart, I'm about to." And weren't those words to instantly make her panties wet? Tina's gaze danced across his features that seemed to be currently set on a permanent default of grim warning and lustful danger. No. She definitely wasn't

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playing any games here. She licked her lips and met his gaze dead on. "Promises. Promises." His hand tightened on hers, gripped it, and pulled it away from his abs, but he didn't drop it, didn't push her away. Instead, he held her hand in his at her side, his other hand reaching under her hair to cup the back of her neck. "You're starting something that won't be finished until this storm is over. You know that, don't you?" She expected him to kiss her. His hand on her neck, the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth. It was coming. She was almost sure of it. So why didn't he? Perhaps because he was waiting for her to answer? She knew he'd asked a question, but his touch, the intensity she saw in his eyes, the devilish roughness she heard in his voice made it hard for her to think, to comprehend. "As long as that storm is out there you're stuck, Tina. There's no running from it. Start it now and it won't end until the hurricane does." Ah, now she understood. Still, he thought…. "I know exactly what I'm doing," she assured him and felt only a slight flutter of wonder deep in the pit of her stomach. She did. Didn't she? His hand rolled on her neck, turning up to bury his fingers in her hair, to fist itself in the long strands. He tugged, a quick and forceful pull that brought her head back and drew a surprised gasp from her throat. It didn't hurt. If anything it aroused, sending slivers of stimulation to dance through her body clear down to her toes. Then his mouth was on hers. He crushed her lips with his, taking with no finesse or tenderness, and she realized she'd pushed him to this. She asked for it, tormenting him and teasing him until he finally gave. And God, did he give? He possessed her mouth, licking his way inside, withdrawing only to bite at her lip before licking it to sooth and move inside again. She tried to put her free hand between them to touch him, but he grabbed that hand too. Then he turned them both so fast she felt as though she'd suddenly boarded the Gravatron at the town carnival and pushed her against the wall beside the window. His body pinned her there, but it felt different from the last time he'd held her this way. He left no room between their bodies for so much as a breath of air to squeeze through let alone either of their hands, and when he let go of one of her wrists she had nowhere to put it but around his neck.


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She did so, draping it loosely over his broad shoulder, expecting him to move back if only a smidgen so he could touch her. He'd had his hand up her shirt at Dean's and she wanted it there again. Her breasts burned to be covered by his hand, to be kneaded and teased by his fingers. She had been able to think of little else since the first time. She had dreamed about it, remembered it, replayed the scene over and over so many times she put the preverbal broken record to shame. And on two separate occasions that memory drove her to find satisfaction in the only way available at the time. What more could a woman do when she awoke with her breasts taut and screaming, her pussy on fire and sopping wet but to reach for her vibrator? It had been a poor substitute, her own hands on her breasts, finger on her clit, vibrator long and hard inside her weeping pussy. The orgasm had been pitiful compared to that which she felt certain Ryan could give her. If only he would put his hands where she wanted them. "Ryan." His name tore from her on a breathless plea as his lips left her mouth to lick at her cheek, nip at her jaw. "Touch me, Ryan. Please touch me. I want—" But he silenced the rest of her words when he claimed her mouth once more. She hadn't thought his kisses could get any more extreme or ferocious. Yet they did. God, the heat she tasted in him was scalding her insides! Absently, as if suddenly her body were divided in two at the waist and her lower half were sending signals to her brain via written correspondence, she felt his hand graze her thigh through the satin of the robe. Finally, thank you sweet baby Jesus, he was going to touch her. Her nipples tightened in anticipation and she forgot all about the amazing things his tongue and teeth were doing to her mouth as she eagerly awaited his hand on her flesh. It was cold to her heated skin, a block of ice ready to chill and soothe the smoldering surface of her flesh. His fingers snaked beneath the hem of the robe, danced across her thigh and left a trail of icy slivers in its wake. But the hand didn't climb. Instead, he moved, shifted and wedged a foot between hers on the floor, used it to urge her legs to part. God, if he planned to torment her pussy with his knee again, putting her in a position to gyrate and ride as he had the last time, she wouldn't be able to control herself. He would walk away when this was over with a very wet pant leg.

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It wasn't his knee that inched its way toward her throbbing pussy. It was his fingers. He didn't plan to play around at her breasts this time and leave it at that. Although the last time would have gone farther if Dean hadn't interrupted. This time Ryan was going straight for the goal and, oh shit! Sanity prevailed just as Ryan's fingers pushed their way under the seam of her panties and directly between the slick, hot folds of her pussy lips. His kiss had become even more demanding, more animalistic, and she didn't know how she did it but she managed to wrench her mouth free to gasp, "Timmy!" Ryan's hand stilled, his fingers on the verge of delving into the eagerly awaiting opening of her vagina. He raised his head enough to meet her gaze and then shot a furtive glance over his shoulder at the door before looking back at her. He didn't speak but tilted his head instead, the sexual haze in his expression parting just enough for her to see what appeared to be a lack of understanding. Then she realized it was merely a look of deep concentration. He was listening. To what, she didn't know. "Do you hear that?" he finally asked in a barely audible whisper. He didn't move, didn't pull his fingers away from her panties, didn't let go of her. He simply stood there seemingly frozen against her as though they were posing for some sort of erotic painting or statue and waited for an answer. Tina opened her mouth to say no. What was he talking about? All she could hear was the relentless drumming of the rain against the plywood covering the window beside her that became more forceful when the fierce wind whirled harder toward the house. She also heard her pounding of her own heart, loud and persistent in her ears, and shallow breathing, both his and hers. But as she paused, strained her ears and waited, she did hear more sounds. Voices, as though talking through walkie-talkies, explosives, machine gun fire. War sounds. The kind of sounds made by the game she left Timmy playing in the other room. Tina nodded. "As long as we can hear that, we don't have to worry about him walking in," Ryan told her still in that barely there whisper. Then his fingers in her panties wiggled just enough to make her eyes roll back in her head, to pull a soft breath from her lungs and the corners of his lips twitched. "It's a portable game system," she reminded him in a voice as equally quiet as his. Still, his fingers inched further between her slick folds. She


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could feel two of them spreading her as a third, the middle one, prepared to dive inside. It was almost impossible to think with his fingers all but inside her. Especially when that was exactly where she wanted him. Inside her. But she forced her mind to curve around the promise of pleasure transferring from his touch and ricocheting through her most intimate flesh. Yes, she wanted him inside her, but her wants, her needs, her desires, came second. Always second to Timmy, and no way could she let him find her with Ryan this way. "Which is plugged into the wall," Ryan reminded her. "You told him to keep it plugged in, right?" Tina nodded and glanced at the lamps on the end tables, noted the power was still on. "As long as there is power we don't have to worry." And before she could utter another word in protest or agreement, he pushed his finger inside her. Pleasure. Sweet, vicious, mind-altering, amazing…. God, Tina hadn't known a finger could make her feel so much pleasure! If he could make her feel all of this with a finger, imagine what he could do with his cock. She didn't have time to imagine though because he stroked her, deep and fierce, sending spasms of wonderment and searing heat through her. He pulled out, circled her opening with the tip of that finger and then pushed not one but two fingers side by side into her with such speed and invigoration she actually cried out from the sensations that spiraled through her. "Shh." His whisper held a hint of laughter. He buried his face in her hair, nuzzled his lips against her ear as he began to work her, to fuck her with those fingers. "You have to stay quiet. We wouldn't want Timmy to hear you." Dear God, he was right. If Timmy heard her cries he would think something was wrong and come to investigate. She was thankful Ryan still had the presence of mind to remind her of that. Until she realized his concern for what her son might see was not his only motive behind the warning. "Have you ever cum without making a sound, Tina? Because that's what's about to happen here. I'm going to make you cum but you can't make

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any noise when you do." His fingers caressed her, wiggling and stroking the sensitive walls of her opening before sliding out in a pull that was somehow both too fast and too slow and felt way too good. Something short-circuited inside her body as her senses reached the point of sexual overload. He was going to make her cum. That was as much fact as promise. When his calloused thumb brushed over her sensitized clit, his fingers delving inside her as far as he could possibly shove them, she dug her nails into his shoulder and marveled at the low groan he breathed in her ear. "If I can't make a sound then neither can you." Each word came on a ragged breath because, wow, the man's fingers were moving inside her with the skill and relentless speed of a vibrator on Energizer batteries. He might have laughed at that. She couldn't quite tell. His words however, though husky and soft and whispered directly into her ear, were crystal clear. "I wish you could make a little noise. A lot of noise. I want to make you scream. Do you think I could make you scream for me, Tina?" "Yes." Oh God, yes. She didn't just think he could do it. She knew he could. She knew with a certainty that had her vagina contracting around his fingers as mini explosions detonated inside her womb. He could make her scream and a whole lot more. She felt like screaming now, from the waves of pleasure that swamped her, from the needs that gripped and consumed her, from the sheer frustration as those needs were denied because this was all she could have, all she would get. For now. Definitely only for now because he had promised her more, all but informed her there would be more between them than this few minutes in time against the wall in his living room. Yet, even for now, even just this much was incredible. It was a shock of driving heat each time he thrust his fingers into her, a torment of rocketing sensations each time his calloused thumb brushed over her hard and swollen clit. "Do you want the truth, Tina? I do want you. You are right about that, baby." Tina felt a surge of triumph at his admission, but there was no time to gloat, no time to celebrate her victory because he was headed for a victory all his own. His fingers probed her saturated opening, his thumb beginning a


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pressured massage to her clit, and still somehow he managed to reach further between her legs to glide yet another finger over her anus. Tina's eyes flew open in shock but when she attempted to move she realized none of her limbs wanted to cooperate. It was as if her body was completely at his mercy, there in his arms, in his hands, to do with as he dared. She thought to scream although she knew she shouldn't. Not simply because of Timmy but she also couldn't be sure her scream would be one of protest or pleasured consent. Either way, the point was moot since she realized she couldn't even draw enough air into her lungs to speak let alone yell. "I want you naked in my bed. I want you beneath me, my cock shoved inside you as far as it will go and then some." "Ryan!" Tina gyrated against his fingers, drawing them deeper still, grinding her clit and even her anus against his fingers there too as the raptures of the impending orgasm grew stronger. "More. Oh please. I need—" But what she needed was lost as he finally slipped his other hand between their bodies, inside the folds of the robe and found her breast. "What do you need, Tina?" His hand moved over her breast, catching, squeezing, the thumb circling her engorged nipple until it hardened to the point of pain. But it was a pleasurable pain, a tormenting pain that danced a direct line of fire straight to her aching pussy. "Tell me what you need." You. I need you, she started to say but the smallest part of her that managed to hold on to a half ounce of sanity through all of this knew she couldn't have that. Not right here. Not right now. "God, your pussy is so hot, so wet its driving me crazy. I want to taste you. Will you let me taste you later, Tina?" "Yes. I—" He caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it in a pressured squeeze that made all words, all thought go instantly nonexistent. "Tell me what you need," he whispered again, squeezed again, plunged again. Dear God, his fingers were going to tear her senses apart! "More," she gasped and bent her knees in an attempt to get exactly that. She arched her back, thrusting her breast into his palm in a silent plea for more there too. "More what, baby?"

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"More everything! Harder. Faster. Make me cum, Ryan. I need to cum." She writhed against his fingers, rocking them, riding them as she would have done had it been his cock inside her, and she felt the orgasm build. Her muscles tightened around him, the depths of her pussy so full of heat spontaneous combustion seemed a real possibility. "Ryan, please. I'm—about—to—" He kissed her, smothering her cry as she came undone in his arms. Pleasure, exquisite and fiery sharp, ripped through her and left her helpless and hostage to her body's spasms as it tightened and shuddered from the force of her orgasm. He broke the kiss with a tenderness that surprised her especially after the almost animalistic way he just possessed her. Then he rested his forehead to hers, gazed into her eyes. The corner of his lips kicked up into a grin and a cool gleam of promise and success rose in his eyes. Between her legs, his fingers eased out of her pussy, and he brought that hand to his mouth, licked the fingers he'd had shoved inside her all the while holding her gaze. The sight of him tasting her juices on his fingers that way was so erotically compelling she couldn't find it in herself to be embarrassed. She also couldn't find the strength to speak let alone move. Her mind, however, had no problems kicking back into high gear. Timmy. She should check on Timmy. "He's still playing the game," Ryan told her, reading her thoughts. "He's fine but I will go check on him for you, give you a minute or two to get yourself together." Tina watched him through narrowed eyes as he took a cautions step back as if afraid she might collapse without his help to stand. She might have. Her legs were still that wobbly in the aftermath of the incredible orgasm, if there hadn't been a wall behind her to lean against. A wall that shook from the force of a resounding smash that echoed through the living room as the lights went out.


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Chapter 8 "You're sure you want to do this?" Tripp froze in the act of turning the corner into the station's recreational room and did a fast moving back step. He ducked behind a tall supply cabinet in the hallway and listened to the voices drifting from the open doorway. Bailey and Dean's voices, he realized almost instantly. "I'm positive." Bailey answered the captain in a strong and assured tone that backed her words one hundred percent. And wasn't that a refreshing change? Too often lately the usually selfconfident, easygoing, strong willed woman was confused, seemingly lost, unsure, and frightened. Not about this. Whatever she and the captain discussed it was evident Bailey wanted it without doubt or hesitation. "You don't have to do this, you know. Personally, I wish you would give it some more thought. This shouldn't be a rash decision." Still, Dean was trying to talk her out of it. Tripp leaned a shoulder against the wall, folded his arms over his chest, crossed one booted ankle over the other and listened. To anyone who might happen to spot him, it would appear he was reading off the assignment schedule taped to the side of the cabinet. And yeah, okay, listening wasn't all he was doing. He was gloating, grinning like a freakin' idiot as he waited for the true entertainment to start because he knew better than most that talking Bailey out of anything she set her mind to was a task better suited for combat trained men rather than a lieutenant or even a captain of a shift in a fire department. "This isn't a rash decision, Captain." Bailey laughed, a quick burst of air that held little humor. "Believe me, I have thought about it as well as all of my other options. This is, well, it’s the best decision, the best solution I can come up with for all involved." "I wish I could agree with you." Dean sighed, and Tripp could picture his friend and superior on the other side of the wall standing in front of

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Bailey, meeting her gaze as he shook his head. They would have no problems going head to head and, even though they appeared to be merely discussing right now, Tripp could feel a hint of tension and uncomfortable air drifting from the rec room into the hallway. "And I'm sorry Bailey, I know you would never take a decision like this lightly or make it without first thinking it through. It's been months since we first talked about it and since then you've gave it a lot more consideration. So have I." Bailey had gone to the captain with a problem several months ago? Tripp all but felt his jaw hit the floor. He hadn't known she discussed anything with Dean. Not anything as obviously private and serious as this seemed to be. Why hadn't she come to Tripp? They were friends after all. Not that she and the captain weren't friends of course but Tripp felt pretty certain Dean hadn't sat at Bailey's kitchen table or on the sofa or gone for long walks through the woods behind her cottage to the beach listening as Bailey talked. Listening as only a true friend could, as only a man who loved her could. Yet, she'd gone to Dean when she encountered a problem and needed someone to talk to, someone to offer her comfort and advice. Since when had the captain become the man in which to confide? No. Don't write to Dear Abby. There's no need. We have our very own Dean Abby right here at the fire department. God dammit! Yes, that was jealously twisting in Tripp's gut. "I know you don't understand why I feel I have to leave, Captain, but…" Leave? Tripp pushed himself off the wall, straightened, his body tensing as every fiber of his being urged him to stomp into that room and confront Bailey. Leave? Where did she think she was going and why hadn't he heard anything about this? "That's where you're wrong. I do understand. I've made it as clear as I can that there is no rule to prevent you from staying where you are and still having what you want. Yet I still understand even without a rule telling you that you can't, well, I can see how you still wouldn't want to." "Thank you." Bailey's voice dropped and Tripp had to lean against the wall again, this time almost putting his ear against it too to hear her. "The fact you do understand means a lot to me and yeah, in truth, you may not be intentionally holding me back but the fact that you would, will," she


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corrected. "The fact that you will no longer be my immediate captain has been one of the hardest parts of this decision to accept." "Have you discussed this with Tripp yet?" No, she absolutely had not and apparently it was something he definitely needed to know about. Dean obviously thought so. Otherwise why would he ask? It took every ounce of restraint Tripp possessed not to stalk into that room and ask, "Discuss what with Tripp?" Tripp didn't hear Bailey's response, but she must have shaken her head because Dean said, "You should. I wouldn't wait any longer, either, if I were you. You should talk with him about this before the paperwork is ever started. Don't just drop the bomb on him when it's all said and done and expect him to be happy with what you've decided. It concerns him too, you know?" Well, thank you Dean Abby. That was probably the best piece of advice Tripp heard Dean give Bailey since he started eavesdropping. Talk to Tripp. Yes dammit, she definitely better talk to him. "I will. I intend to. I promise. Tripp and I—" she hesitated, and Tripp couldn't stop his brain, unfortunately at the moment the one in his pants, from trying to finish the sentence for her. Tripp and I were headed for the bedroom when the tones dropped yesterday. Tripp and I were about to have screaming monkey sex, but instead we had to come here and pretend we weren’t together. Tripp and I could still be in his bed right now riding out the storm by my riding him into oblivion if we hadn't been called to be here. Of course his lower brain had it all wrong. Bailey completed the sentence with a more truthful, more serious, more adult approach. Not that his endings had been any less truthful or serious or adult. They'd just been far more provocative and down a completely different path. "Tripp and I have a lot of things we need to talk about." "You know, we're all pretty much in limbo until this storm passes," Dean pointed out. "Tripp mentioned something about catching up on a few reports while he's stuck here at the station. He usually uses my office for that. Maybe you should take this time to do that talking." "Yeah, good idea Captain. I'll do that." Yes, good idea indeed. Tripp pushed himself off the wall. A part of him felt like a real shit for purposely eavesdropping, but a larger part was unable

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to care because, dammit, he couldn't get past the thought of her planning to leave and not telling him. He moved silently back down the hall the way he'd come. He would take the other route, through the kitchen and back hall to Dean's office and start on those reports. **** Tina almost left him alone. She stopped just inside the doorway and watched Ryan in silence for several long heartbeats. It was the same thing she had done earlier in the living room but doing it here, in his bedroom with his king-sized bed staring back at her felt far different. Maybe she should wait until he came into the kitchen or the playroom where Timmy seemed to have taken up permanent residence. She almost did it. She even took a small tentative step backward, but then he spoke. "You can come in. I promise I won't bite." Tina was certain she hadn't made a sound, hadn't even been breathing loudly, and yet he'd heard her, known she was there. How had he known? He turned to look at her over his shoulder. "I used to be a Navy SEAL, remember? Or didn't you know that?" "Yeah, I um, I knew that. I think Dean mentioned it a couple of times." She and Dean had also talked about what it meant to be a SEAL, the rigorous training a man had to go through just to be accepted into the program. She'd seen a few documentaries about the teams, knew about BUDs, about the thing the recruits called Hell Week. It took one heck of a man to make it through all of that intense brutal training. Her gaze skimmed down Ryan's body. It wasn't intentional, that slow slide that drank in all of those rippling muscles and hard curves. Damn but the man's backside looked as wickedly tempting and mouthwateringly delicious as his front. He had absolutely no body fat. A product of all of that training and years with the teams, no doubt. Yeah, Ryan Magee was definitely one heck of a man. He was a mind reader too. Either that or she was so completely unable to prevent it from showing on her face. Whichever way she knew that he knew if not exactly what she had been thinking, at least which road her mind decided to travel. She may not be able to read his mind so easily but times like this, when he let his thoughts show on his face, there was no mistaking his intent. And, as if to eliminate the


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possibility of any doubts, he tended to make those thoughts even more clear with words. "Keep looking at me like that, sugar and I may have to renege on my promise." His smile wasn't quite a leer. A leer didn't usually expose so many teeth—perfect white, straight teeth that could bite and make her beg for more at the first given opportunity. Still, it tilted his lips in that devil-maycare way they did. Yeah, even the devil had nothing on this man's confidence and ego. Tina's gaze darted to the bed, king-sized with rumpled navy blue cotton sheets and only a foot or two away. He saw her glance at it, of course, and his smile widened even as his eyes darkened with that passionate heat she was coming to recognize and know so well. "Although, maybe that's what you want. Maybe I shouldn't be making you promises about what I won't do and tell you instead what I intend to do." Was that supposed to scare her? Make her run out of his bedroom screaming as if the dogs of hell were hot on her heels? Fat chance on that one. If anything, that fiery gaze of his that was so full of lust and cynical daring made her want to take him up on his first promise. The one he made while his fingers were shoved so deeply inside her, his mouth at her ear as he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her tonight. It scared him, that scene in the living room. A man like Ryan Magee expected to take what he wanted from a woman and walk away without a second thought. Tina couldn't say for sure how she knew, but he was having second, third and even tenth thoughts, and it was scaring the screaming bejesus out of him. "You already have, remember." Tina moved further into the room. She walked to the dresser, gingerly picked up his fire department badge that lay amongst a scattering of pocket change, fingernail clippers, a rock that appeared to be a tumbled piece of lapis or kainite, and a pack of matches. The last made her look back at him perplexed. "You smoke?" He didn't laugh at the absurdity of her question. Of course he didn't smoke. She would have smelled it on him if he did. Instead, he answered her honestly. "I used to. Back in high school. Before I joined the Navy." He shrugged, expelled a short laugh. "I guess the prospect of getting cancer wasn't dangerous enough for me."

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"So you gave up smoking and went into the Navy to become a SEAL." Tina nodded. "Lets go to war, fight against a few terrorists, take on some big time drug lords. Yeah, the danger factor there is definitely a notch or two up the charts from cancer, I suppose. Or maybe it's just a danger that offers more fun than puffing on a piece of paper rolled around dry leaves. It holds the possibility of killing you faster too. Cancer can be a really slow killer sometimes." "Actually, more people die of cancer everyday then the total number of SEALs ever killed in combat. SEALs are pretty tough. We're not—" He broke off, shook his head and rephrased. "They're not easy to kill." He looked away, staring out the bedroom window as he'd been doing when she found him minutes ago, the same way he'd been doing when she found him earlier in the living room. As with the window in the living room, the bedroom window was covered by a piece of plywood with an inch or so space along the side to offer a glimpse out at the storm. There was more to this thing about the SEALs, about Ryan's time of being a SEAL. His last comment, they're not easy to kill, gave her a very big clue he missed being a part of the team. Did he feel like a part of him had been killed when he left the SEALs? Tina wanted to know, but she didn't want to push. The squared set of his shoulders as he turned away from her again, the tense look to his jaw that she could see in his side profile tripped her sympathy switch. She would have pity on him, let the subject rest. For now. "That still doesn't explain why you carry around matches now," she said, backtracking their conversation to where it began. "I'm a firefighter now. Still a dangerous profession but with way more down time. You know, unless we have an arsonist on the loose or a string of medical calls where the EMTs need assistance, we might go hours or even days without a call. We never know when we may get really bored and want to start a fire of our own, give us something to put out." "So you carry the matches to make it easy to start a fire when you want one." Tina didn't try to hide the skepticism from her voice. "Yeah, like I believe that one. Sometimes you're a regular comedian." "Trying to say I shouldn't quit my day job?" "I think I've told you that once already. Seriously what gives, Ryan? Is this how you quit smoking? You know, carry around a box of matches and


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light one every time you have the urge to smoke. Maybe let it burn your fingers a few times to remind you of all the different ways cigarettes can be harmful to your body." He laughed, a genuine burst of amused sound. "That's a pretty sadistic way to quit smoking. Don't you think?" Tina grinned too. She couldn't help it. His laughter, the husky male sound that both tempted and teased her lust glands, was infectious. "I've heard of people doing some strange things to quit." "Yeah, so have I. I didn't need to burn myself every few hours to give up the habit though. I just, well, I just quit." Yeah, a man like Ryan Magee would be strong enough, posses enough self-discipline and will power to give up such a nasty habit without any methods or aides. "I got in the habit of carrying the matches around while I was still in the teams. We went on a couple of ops where we found ourselves in need of a match and nobody had one. They would get lost or somehow left behind and nobody on the team smoked. I got tired of needing something I didn't have, so I started carrying a box in my pocket. I guess I just never thought about not needing them anymore." "Did your mother smoke?" Ryan turned to look at her. He didn't just turn his head this time and shoot her a glance over his shoulder. He actually moved his whole body, letting her see the suspicion and confusion and dread in the tightness of his jaw and the hardening of his eyes as he twisted all the way around. He folded his arms over his broad bare chest and leaned against the wall by the window. What was it with this guy and windows? "Were you a peeping Tom when you were a boy?" Her question surprised another laugh out of him. Well now. At least he was no longer glaring at her as if she'd just accused him of being an ax murderer. He even stopped grinding his teeth, which was a good thing because too much more of that and he wouldn't be able to afford the dental bills. "Was I a what? Jesus, Tina! First you have me inflicting bodily injury to myself as a way to quit smoking. Now you have me peering through girl's windows. You must really think I was a warped child."

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"No. I just, well, you've been standing at one window or another since we got here. I thought after that skateboard or bicycle or whatever nearly crashed through the living room earlier you would get the hint to move away from the windows. Didn't they teach you about hurricane safety in firefighter school?" "It was a scooter. That thing that hit the living room window. They're pretty lightweight, and it didn't crash through the living room. It hit the plywood. That's the whole point of boarding up the windows." "Is it getting that bad out there?" After nearly choking on her heart at the loud crash that accompanied the loss of power, Tina hadn't braved getting near any of the windows. The soundtrack that sucked in the house and held it hostage was bad enough. The various sounds of the wind whistling, gusting, and swirling along with the relentless pounding of the rain, loud rumbles and accompanying crashing thunder and blinding lightning did a good enough job of keeping her stomach tied in knots and securely lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat. "I tuned in to the radio while you were in the other room with Timmy. The latest reports are putting Emilio on land by night fall." "So the worst is still yet to come." "Probably. It's not going to be as strong as they predicted. A low category three is their new guess." "That's still pretty bad. Winds in excess of one hundred miles an hour or something like that." "One hundred and eleven." Ryan nodded. "Yeah, it's still dangerous." "All the more reason you should get you’re your ass away from the windows. One hundred and eleven mile a hour winds are surely capable of picking up something heavier than a ten pound scooter." "Worried about me sugar? I'm touched." His eyes sparkled with that glint of mischief Tina found both amusing and infuriating as hell. She rolled her own eyes and put down his badge, picked up the tumbled stone. "Don't be an ass." "I thought we already established that I'm an ass. And doesn't this conversation sound familiar?" "Yes, it does. We do seem to be revisiting old ground quite a lot, don't we? Still, for good measure, I will remind you we established you are a son


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of a bitch not an ass. Though I suppose the two could work well together as an overall description of your less-than-sunny personality." "My less-than-sunny personality." His lips curved into a wide mouth grin of pure delight that despite its goofiness somehow still made him sexy as hell. It also reminded Tina he could be twice as dangerous. "As far as revisiting treaded ground, there is one subject you somehow manage to avoid every time I attempt to bring it up. Take now, for instance. If I let us, we would take this conversation on a ride down personality lane or something equally off the original topic. Although, for once even that wouldn't be so far off course because the past does mold one's personality. So okay, back to the son of a bitch thing. You've said that is a true statement. You are the son of a bitch. I've also asked if you were an only child and if your mother smoked." Tina rolled the tumbled stone in her palm and turned, leaned against the dresser, and pinned him with her best don'tbullshit-me glare. "So tell me about your mother, Ryan. You're welcome to start with the easiest question if you like. Did your mother smoke? Or should I ask, does she? I don't even know if she's still alive." All amusement left Ryan's face. His smile vanished, replaced with that grim set to his jaw and the nearly inaudible sound of grinding teeth. He stared at her, silently, not moving. Tina had to fight all her reflexes not to move either. She wanted to slink back in a corner and hide. She wanted to squirm. She wanted to turn her head. But instead, she forced herself to remain in her nonchalant pose leaning against the dresser. She toyed with the tumbled stone in her hand as if they were talking about the final score of last night's Mets game, as if he wasn't staring at her with an intensity capable of boring holes though her body had his eyes been replaced with drill bits. "Why do you want to know about my mother?" He didn't follow up the question with a sigh, but a wistful look did cross his face before he quickly masked it. He replaced that expression with another of those not quite leers he did so well as he let his gaze slowly rake down her body. God, but the man could make her come undone merely by looking at her that way, and he knew it too. The bastard. "You know, that outfit you're wearing?" He lifted his chin at the clothes she'd taken out of the dryer and put back on despite their dampness. "I'm not sure which one is more of a turn-on for me. The sight of you in that black

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robe added to the knowledge you weren't wearing anything under it, or that cutoff shirt and those shorts. Turn around for me, will ya? I couldn't help but notice back on the street when you were leaning under the hood of your car those shorts are very short and form to that sexy butt of yours quite nicely. Kind of gave me a few ideas we might have to try later." Tina didn't turn. She couldn't. Her blood pressure rocketed so high she could've shot to the farthest star with the way he all but fucked her with his gaze. "I'm not going to let you turn this sexual," she told him when she felt confident she could speak calmly, without letting any of the heat boiling in her middle and begging for another ride to orgasmville escape. "However, I will apologize. These are what I call my comfy clothes. I usually never wear them outside of my house. I don't even wear them in my house when I have company. I got called into work early this morning. The hotel. I had to go in and help them prepare to shut down for the storm." "You should have told them to kiss your ass." Tina chuckled. There was no way he could have known how close she came to telling her boss exactly that. "I can't afford to lose the job, and they would have fired me if I hadn't showed. My boss is a real—" She stopped, shook her head. "Anyway, when I got home I threw on these clothes because they aren't as binding as my hotel uniform. I was in such a hurry, you know, getting our stuff together, securing the house, etc., that I didn't bother to change. I knew time was running out, and then the car—" She broke off again and narrowed her eyes at him. "You're doing it again!" "Doing what?" he asked innocently. Yeah, right. Ryan Magee didn't have an innocent bone in his body. "Taking the conversational train down a different track. You're good at that, aren't you?" "I'm good at a lot of other things too." He waggled his brows suggestively. Tina laughed both at his attempt at cuteness—not that he had to try very hard to be cute—and to cover up any audible sizzle as her sexual wiring hit complete fried-like-a-French-fry status. "Yeah, I just bet you are. I'm not letting you distract me with sex. Is she still alive?" Well now, if she'd learned anything at all about this man today it was how to wipe a grin off his face.


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"You aren't going to let this rest, are you?" He pushed himself away from the wall but didn't turn his back on her as she expected. He moved to the foot of the bed instead, sat on the edge directly across from where she stood. His upper body was bare, his lower body clad in only a pair of low riding jeans and sitting on the end of the bed that way, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a steamy sex book. Tina made a mental note to tell Rhonda she'd found the perfect cover model for her next novel. "No. She isn't. She died when I was seventeen. Now, why don't you drop it, come over here and sit with me, and we can talk about the first thing that pops up." He patted his lap as close to his cock as he could without actually patting it. "God! You're incorrigible." Tina's temper sparked. "Is sex all you think about?" "When I look at you, yes." His admission seemed to shock him as much as it did her. Whoa! Well, okay. That was something she hadn't expected. Her temper ebbed as she stared at him searchingly. His face had gone blank, nearly unreadable expect for one little sparkle, one little flash. The same one she'd seen earlier but found hard to truly believe. A little glimmer of fear. That flash and his balls out honesty inspired Tina to go for a bit of truth of her own. "We're stuck here together probably through the night and maybe into the morning. Timmy has taken up residence in your playroom, and he won't come out until all of the batteries on all of the game systems are dead or until we tell him to. Right now he's reveling in the fact he can play all he wants without a time limit or reprimand. I never let him play video games this long." "Told you they made good babysitters." "Yes, so while he has a babysitter, talk to me Ryan. I want to know you." **** He'd been laughably easy to find. He wouldn't be so easy to capture.

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Atith Sovannarith didn't kid himself into thinking he could waltz in, hold a gun to Ryan Magee's head and lead the man out of the house without a fight. A fight that would no doubt end with one of them dead. With those odds, taking the obvious approach presented too much of a gamble. Atith had his orders: Make the drop, find the former SEAL, bring him back alive. He'd left his crew to carry out order number one. They were, after all, the ones responsible for making the transfer of cargo from ship to port, a task that done carefully and covertly—as the U.S. Government was so fond of saying—would easily take an hour or more in this weather. He'd taken care of order number two himself. Find the former Navy SEAL. Atith trained the binoculars on the space not much larger than a crack in the window on the side of the house, focused in on the buff male figure that peered out the window at him. No. Not at him. Atith's position was secure, out of sight even to the trained eyes of a former operative. Still, Magee knew something was up. The same training that made his eyes so keen also put his sense on high alert and no doubt the soldier's senses were screaming at him now. Which would make carrying out order number three a challenge. Or would it? Ryan Magee had hardly left one window or the other in hours. All of the windows on the single-story home were covered by sheets of thick plywood each with a space an inch or so wide left open on either side. It wasn't enough room for flying debris to crash. It was, however, large enough for Magee to keep close watch on the storm outside and for Atith to keep watch on him. There was a woman inside the house with Magee. Atith discovered that when the scooter, decidedly a gift from God, had hit the window. Magee had ducked out of sight. Time passed, an indeterminable amount of time that fell close to but just short of forever. So Atith had waited. He'd kept his binoculars on that window, known even though he could no longer see Magee, the man hadn't left that room. Atith could see what had to be the door leading out into what appeared to be a hallway directly across from the window. It wasn't until that scooter made its audition for the hard-hitting drummer in this afternoon's stormy window jazz band that Magee reappeared. His warrior-trained eyes had been hard and searching and suspicious, eyes that looked even more monstrous through the gray haze of the storm backed by all that darkness since the power went out. He'd spotted


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the scooter immediately where it had fallen into several broken pieces on the ground below the sill. Still, Atith had watched as Magee slowly scanned the yard outside, unconcerned by the danger of being so close to a window already hit once by flying debris, and on full alert. More time had passed before Magee moved out of sight again, and that's when Atith got his first glimpse of the woman. Atith hadn't gotten a good look at her that time. She moved too quickly out of the room. He got a better look at her a little later, however, when he'd changed his position, found her through a space in the window of a different room. A bathroom. Ah yes, he got quite a good look at her then. He watched her, his hand moving inside the fly of his pants to stroke his cock as she stripped for him. Of course, she hadn't known she was stripping for him and that made the show all the more exciting. She slowly slid out of the robe she wore, letting the material glide down her arms and back until it fell away and out of sight. Then she stood before a mirror, her skin glimmering in the yellowish-orange flame of the candle she lit in lieu of power. She'd touched herself, her hand skimming down her neck, her throat, between her breasts, lower and he'd pumped his dick harder, faster until his hot seamen spewed all over his hand. Atith realized then how to accomplish order number three without a hitch. He could even have some fun of his own in the process. Yes, he thought now as Magee once again moved from the window but not out of sight. Atith refocused the binoculars and found her in his vision, her sweetly appealing body now clothed but no less alluring. A smile unfolded across his lips as he thought of how satisfying it was going to be to hear Magee beg and plead while Atith tore that sweet pussy apart.

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Chapter 9 She wanted to know him. Ryan had been with more women in his life than he could count on his combined fingers and toes and none of them, not a single freakin' one, ever said those words to him. As he sat on the edge of his bed and stared in Tina's expectant, hopeful face, he thought those words might be more frightening than three hand grenades engraved with the words "I" and "love" and "you" that made most men, including himself, run away screaming. He'd known bringing her here was going to be trouble. He simply hadn't known exactly how bad it would get. It wasn't her presence that put him on edge and made him think himself safer to brave the storm outside rather than remain locked in this house, in his bedroom, with her a second longer. No. It was these dammed odd feelings of comfort and ease that made him feel so uncomfortable and ill at ease. Go figure. Worse, he found himself actually wanting to talk to her, actually wanting her to know him. Run. Run for your life. But no. He stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at a woman who was about to turn his whole life upside down. He didn't know how she would do it. He didn't know how he knew she would. All he knew was his life began to flip two days ago and it hadn't yet completed its rotation to doomedville. "That must have sucked, losing your mother at seventeen." Tina said. Her voice rang with compassion and sympathy, but it was obvious she was also prodding, trying to keep the silence they had fallen into from becoming one that would lead to a subject change. "I lost her long before I turned seventeen," Ryan said, surprising them both by not attempting that subject detour. He surprised himself, too, by the confession. He did feel as though he lost his mother years before his seventeenth birthday, like a mere year or so after he was born, but he'd never


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told that to anyone, never admitted it to anyone. He'd never talked about his mother much. Korbin Ziegler, probably knew more about Ryan's past than anyone, and even the CO didn't know a lot. "My mother was, well, she drank too much. She was also a slut." He didn't miss the expression on Tina's face that clearly asked, "The same way you thought I was a slut?" He nodded. Yes, exactly the same way. Except, now that he really thought about it, maybe not. "She always had to have a man around," he attempted to explain. "Thing was, she never stayed with any one of them for very long. She liked to party too. I don't know, maybe that was because she had me at such a young age. She was barely seventeen herself when I was born." "And your father?" Tina stepped away from the dresser and moved to the edge of the bed but sat on the far corner away from him. Ryan smiled. Not a big smile because both the conversation and the fact that his body longed for her to sit closer were nothing to get overjoyed about at the moment. Still, the distance she purposely put between them was a solid clue she was finding him pretty freaking irresistible too. All thoughts of even a hint of a smile evaporated a half a heartbeat later when he focused on the question she'd asked. His father. "He stuck around for about a year after I was born. Or at least that's the story my mom always told me. And I made that sound like he was the one to leave. That's not true. My mother was always the first to admit she left him. Like she was proud of herself or something. She always said how worthless he was, how she would never have anything if she'd stayed with him. She got a job as a waitress at a local diner. We lived in southern Georgia at the time, in a town called Race Pond. Her parents had a trailer they let us live in rent free for a while, until mom got on her feet. Then she started paying, but I think it was only pennies compared to the going price at the time. My grandparents were firm believers in the work for what you get adage." He paused when he saw Tina nodding, her lips tilted in a slight curve of agreement. "Good adage to teach, huh? Yeah, I agree." "It generally makes you stronger, more appreciative of the things you have. You know, because you earned them rather than having them handed to you for nothing?" She looked away, her expression almost sheepish. "At least, that's what it has done for me."

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"Yeah well, that's another place where you're different from my mom." Ryan scowled. "She did good for a while, a couple of years anyway. Then I guess she got tired of working so hard. When she turned eighteen she got this job bartending in the next town, started spending all her nights there even when she wasn't working. She started—" "Wait." Tina held up a hand to stop him. "Hang on. Where were you? Did you stay with your father? Your grandparents?" "My father…" He laughed, the sound more cynical then amused. "I never really knew my father. I stayed with my grandparents for a while but then, well, they were killed in a boating accident when I was four." And even though he'd been only four, their deaths marked the end of his childhood. He'd always believed, always known his life would have turned out far differently had his grandparents been allowed to live even a few years longer. "After that, I stayed with one of my mom's friends or another while she worked and screwed…." **** Screwed anyone that showed her the least amount of attention and had dangling genitalia. Tina didn't finish Ryan's sentence aloud. She didn't have to. It was in his eyes, the knowledge that she would put two and two together, come up with the answer to his cold shoulder, you're-a-worthless-slut attitude he'd showed her for so long. "Anyway, all that time spent in bars, I guess it should come as no surprise she picked up drinking along with her slew of men." Ryan continued after several long silent seconds. "She never did drugs. I was always grateful for that at least. Except cigarettes, that is. Yes, she did smoke. You were right about that, and you know what they say, the kid most likely to smoke is the child of a smoker." "Yet you were smart enough to quit," Tina pointed out. She looked at him, at this man who's childhood had been one of pure loneliness and neglect, at this man who had overcome such adversities to grow into a solid, hard and successful adult, and she knew. She understood. "You wanted to go to college, and you realized the Navy was probably your only hope."


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"I didn't want to turn out like my parents," he said. "I almost didn't see it in time though, you know. My grades in a lot of my classes were barely passing. I did my work, but most of the time only because I had nothing better to do. Boredom, what an incentive to do school work, huh? It did the trick I suppose. Except for my tenth grade year." He flashed her one of his boyish grins, but it held half of the wattage of its usual light. "I enjoyed that year a little too much. Hooked up with the wrong crowd. Skipped more than I went, that kind of stuff. Needless to say, the next year, when I had to do tenth grade all over again, I decided I was better off being bored than a tenth grade graduate for life." Tina smiled at that. Visions of Jethro Klampet and his wide grin as he held up three fingers and proudly announced he graduated the sixth grade and it only took four years came to mind. That could have been Ryan. It sounded as though he'd had no one but himself to rely on, to keep him from traveling the wrong roads, taking the wrong paths. Yet when he detoured in a bad way, as he apparently did in the tenth grade, he'd been intelligent enough to realize his mistake and made it right. "That actually turned out to be a good thing," he continued. He lay back on the bed, put his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling as though the memories in his head were projected there like a movie screen. "My repeating the tenth grade. It ended up working out okay because it put me graduating at eighteen. By the time I got out of high school, I was old enough to enlist." "But you lost your mother before that." She made it more a statement than a question. Hadn't he said she died just after his seventeenth birthday? What had he done for that last year without her? With both his mother and his grandparents' dead, where had he lived? How had he lived? "Her birthday was two months after mine. She was thirty-four when she died. When she hit thirty she took it pretty hard." "Yeah, I've heard thirty can be a hard age for women," Tina commented and barely kept herself from cringing at the idea. She had less than a year herself before she would hit the big three zero. "She seemed to give up even more after that. Or, I don't know, maybe panic is a better word. She started bringing men home. Always before, she'd gone to their place or to a hotel, but once she'd turned thirty, it was as if she couldn't stand the thought of waking anywhere but in her own bed with a

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man. I say that and it sounds so retarded but…." He shook his head and sighed, but his gaze never left that invisible theater screen above the bed. "I think she was afraid of growing old alone, yet I never quite understood how she expected to prevent that when she refused to settle down with anyone. And she continued to drink, or should I say she started drinking more and more. It messed up her mind, her perception, as if both weren't fucked up enough already." Tina turned to face him on the bed, folding her legs beneath her. The movement distracted Ryan, made him look at her. His gaze skimmed over what he could see of her bare legs, and she felt them heat even as goose pimples popped up on her flesh. She couldn't say if it was his looking at her that way while they were both on his bed or if it was that look during this particular conversation, but she suddenly felt uncomfortable, exposed. She spotted a pillow out of the corner of her eye and reached for it, cuddled it in her lap. Ryan smiled, a quick quirk of his lips and turned his focus back to the ceiling. **** He couldn't look at her. Not as long as he was telling this story, reliving those years he'd buried so long ago. And he wanted to tell. As badly as he wanted to look at Tina, to feast on those incredible legs she tucked beneath an even more incredible ass, he wanted to tell her about this childhood more. How strange was that? Now that he had started talking, he couldn't seem to shut up. So he didn't. She'd said she wanted to know him. He was finding rather quickly whatever this magnetic pull, magical power or furious storm was between them was leaving him no other choice but to let her know at least this part of him. "I was thirteen when she started bringing them home, the men she fu— slept with." He corrected himself when he caught Tina's slight wince out of the corner of his eye. Maybe it wasn't his language that mad her wince, though. Hadn't he used that particular word to tell her what he wanted to do to her at least once already? She hadn't winced then. If anything, she'd given him the farthest thing from a please stop message he'd ever gotten. No. If he were to venture a guess, he would say he'd flipped Tina's mother switch with the statement. Despite what he once believed about her,


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despite how far she'd allowed him to go in the open living room earlier, the thought of bringing a man home with the intent of fucking him while Timmy was in the house was surely what made her grimace. Ryan cleared his throat. "She wasn't very discreet. She was usually, almost always drunk and, well, like I said, the alcohol screwed up her perception quite a bit. I knew about sex." He shot Tina a glance and couldn't help but grin back at her. "Hey, I'm a guy. What can I say? Even at thirteen, I was a guy, you know?" "Yeah, I know. Probably more of a guy than most boys at that age. With all you already lived through." She understood. Ryan didn't know why that meant so much to him, but it did. He felt that knowledge seep into his pores, mix in his bloodstream and pump through his very soul. He didn't deserve that, her understanding, not after the way he'd treated her. Ryan sat up and reached for her. It wasn't intentional. He didn't mean to do it, didn't even know he had done it until his hand touched her knee, but once he touched her he couldn't pull away. He shifted closer, letting his hand graze up her thigh under the pillow. "I owe you a huge apology," he told her, and at the flicker of here-wego-again he saw in her eyes he realized he'd made the wrong word choice, the wrong movement to accompany that statement. "I don't mean—" "We agreed to let that go, remember?" she interrupted him. He nodded. Yes, they had. "I'm sorry," he told her anyway, and dammed but those two words left a bitter taste in his mouth. How often had he ever apologized to a woman? How often had he admitted he'd been wrong? It was possible he could count the times on both his thumbs. "I looked at you and, well, more like I looked at Timmy without you because that's when I saw him most often, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I believed, well, you know what I thought." Geezus, had his voice actually cracked on that last word? His vision misted, went blurry and, no way. Were those actually tears in his eyes? Tina seemed not to notice. Thank you God! Maybe because her own eyes had started to sparkle more than usual in the dim candlelight, and she didn't want him to comment. He saw her blink, gulp, nod. "Yeah, you made it pretty clear what you thought," she said, and her voice was softer too and even a bit shaky. She reached beneath the pillow in

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her lap, found his hand on her thigh. When he turned his hand over, she laced her fingers with his, the heat of her palm a soothing and comforting contact. "I was wrong. I know that now. You are nothing like my mother. You are…Timmy is… God. He's such a lucky child. I wish I'd had a mother like you." Okay, and that last bit came out sounding cornball cheesy but, hello, maybe Tina liked cheese balls because she shifted on the bed, leaned down and kissed him. Unlike the other kisses they'd shared, all either fueled by overheated lust or temper, all instigated by Ryan, this one was completely her idea. She proved it too by taking control, her lips capturing his in a soft but no less dominating act of possession. Her tongue invaded his mouth, only the tip at first as it quickly retreated to lick his bottom lip, her teeth nibbling before her tongue danced inside his mouth once more. The entire exchange was so mind-blowing, so breathtaking, so intensely tender he felt a tear escape to slide down one cheek. Oh hell, there was no way she wouldn't notice. With the way she was kissing him, licking him, passionately devouring him, there was no way she wouldn't feel that tear when it reached the place where their mouths joined, no way she wouldn't taste the salt it contained. And didn't that just top off an already Twilight Zone episode equivalent day? For over a year, Ryan held steady at number nine on the woman's sonof-a-bitch chart with his clear disapproval and dislike of her. Two days ago, he'd moseyed on up to top out that chart at number ten when he'd attempted to throw her a bang against the door in his Captain's kitchen. Today, however, he leapt to a new chart as he did a complete one-eighty, showing her understanding and damned near groveling at her feet with apologies. Approximately fifteen minutes ago, he had continued on his infallible mission to convince this woman that yes, he was indeed as off his rocker as she thought him to be by unloading his entire freaking childhood onto her shoulders. Okay, so maybe not the entire thing. There was quite a bit he'd left out. Like where his father had been all his life. Still, he'd come close to baring all. Now he was crying, flippin' crying in the woman's arms. Sweet Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? He knew he'd confused her with all his mood swings and twists and turns. Hell, he'd confused himself! He was so lost right now, like stuck in the narrow passage in that labyrinth on his way to find… His brain. Yeah.


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That's what he needed to find. And, hey, maybe the cowardly lion had skipped off the yellow brick road and stole it from David Bowie at the end of the labyrinth. The chaos in Ryan's head ebbed as a thick silence filtered through. Not a total silence because he could still hear the storm ripping ass outside and the sweet little moans Tina was making as she continued to kiss the life out of him. Damn but the woman knew how to kiss! He was the one who should have been doing all of the moaning and groaning. Still, even amongst those sounds, a silence lay like a dead weight in the air. It was such a heavy weight it actually had him pulling back from Tina, breaking that amazing kiss. He watched as her eyes slowly opened, listened as he tried to figure out what exactly was missing, then a light bulb, one hundred watts and blindingly bright, came on in his head. Timmy. "We're about to have company," he told Tina when her sexually fogged eyes cleared and confusion took over. He listened closer still and then he knew what was missing. The sounds of the games he'd been playing for a good three hours now had stopped. Ryan knew the kid would come looking for his mom. He knew the kid would check all of the rooms in the house, including Ryan's bedroom, and that Timmy wouldn't venture outside on his own especially not in this riproaring storm. So why did Ryan suddenly feel such a high coded sense of alarm? It consumed him so quickly and with such force it left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was a sensation he'd felt only two or three times, each in a combat situation, each just before something happened to blow the covertness of the operation, exposing him to the bad guys. Something was wrong. Except, he knew everything was fine. Or rather, everything was as fine as it could be considering the storm outside was clearly escalating in intensity. Considering he was held up in his house with a woman who he recently began to want more than his next breath and, oh yeah, lets not forget her son. Considering, if Korbin Ziegler and DEA agent Michael Cosmos knew what they were talking about, Ryan would soon be facing the prospect of going up against the bloodthirsty goons of the one drug lord his team hadn't succeeded in permanently neutralizing. Yeah, everything was definitely fine. Considering.

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It was no doubt the last part that had him so completely on edge. It was that last part that made him unable to stay away from the windows for more than a few minutes at a time. Not that he believed anything would happen until the storm dissipated. Phay and his men might be bloodthirsty goons, but they weren't stupid. That fact had been proven when Phay managed to so thoroughly escape and remain underground completely undetected since. No, it was the chaos that was sure to ensue once Hurricane Emilio left his mark that Ryan would be watching for. That was when Phay and his men would make their move. And Ryan would be ready for them. The hand Tina had slipped around his neck fell to the mattress as she scooted back, all confusion now gone from her eyes. She moved so quickly in her haste to get away from Ryan that she nearly slid clean off the bed. Ryan caught her, his hand reflexively jutting out to grasp her wrist, and the shocked surprise on her face made him laugh. After the conversation they'd just had, the blood pressure raising kiss they'd just shared, the siren of alarm that just wrapped around his heart, all of which had been superbly intense, it felt good to let himself laugh. Tina smiled too but she apparently wasn't quite ready to move to the fun stage of this hour. "How did she die? Your mother, was it cancer?" Ryan stopped laughing, instantly transported back to that morning at the age of seventeen when he'd found his mother dead in her bed. That image of her naked form lying in a sodden mess of her own waste, her eyes open in shock, her lips blue, her body unmoving, had haunted his nights for many years. Even now, well over a decade later, it resurfaced on occasion to wreak havoc with his peaceful sleep. "You ever heard old men joke about how they want to go during sex only for some, the really lucky ones, I suppose, it really happens? They have a heart attack because the sex is so dammed good they manage to over exert themselves or something." At her nod he continued, speaking quietly because he knew Timmy would be coming through the bedroom door any second, and he didn't want the kid to hear this. "Well, apparently it doesn't just happen to old men. It can happen to a thirty-four year old woman who has drank and smoked so much she's weakened her heart enough the least exertion causes a massive stroke." "Oh my God!" Tina breathed. "Where were you when it happened?"


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"In bed asleep. Or maybe I wasn't even asleep yet. I really don't know exactly. I stayed locked in my room most of the time. You know, playing video games. Especially when I knew she had a man in her bed. At some point, I heard him leave but…." Ryan shook his head. He'd wondered for a long time after that night if he could have somehow saved his mother had he merely gone to check on her after hearing the front door close. Had she already been in the throes of the stroke? Or maybe even dead and the guy left in a panic thinking that someone would think he killed her? Ryan never knew exactly because he hadn't paid close enough attention. The medical examiner determined the time of death, but since Ryan hadn't known what time the man had left or even who the man was, it hadn't told them much. Cause of death, a stroke possibly induced by alcohol and cigarettes but nothing more. Years later, Ryan came to the realization even if he had paid attention to the time, even if he'd left his own room that night to check on his mother, even if he'd been by her side when the stroke occurred, he wouldn't have been able to save her. And even if he had, she would have died soon anyway. The lifestyle she'd chosen put her on the fast track to an early grave. All of the alcohol, cigarettes, and meaningless, unprotected sex were another form of suicide. "Ryan, my God, I'm so sorry." There were tears in her eyes again and something else that looked suspiciously like pity. "It was a long time ago," Ryan said dismissively and eased off the bed. He couldn't meet Tina's gaze now. Dammit! He didn't want her pity. He didn't know exactly what he wanted anymore. Confusions R Us had its grand opening in his head and he was the store manager. All he knew for sure was he desperately needed an end to this conversation. Now! His salvation stepped into the open doorway. A shadowy form that could only be Timmy. "What's up, Sport?" Ryan asked, putting the right amount of forced joviality in his tone. "Did the batteries finally run out?" "No, sir. Well, the Gameboy Advance went dead," Timmy amended. He stepped farther into the room, into the glow of the candlelight. "I started playing it to save the juice in the PSP because it's my favorite." Ryan laughed. Smart kid.

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"The storm is getting worse, and it's so dark in that room. Are you getting scared in there by yourself?" Timmy shot his mother the nine-year-old equivalent of a gee-you'restupid look. "You're kidding, right Mom? That room doesn't have any windows. You said yourself I'm safer there then anywhere in the house. And I have the flashlights Ryan gave me. Plus, the games make a lot of light too." "I bet it's nice not having a nagging mother looking over your shoulder telling you it's time to stop having fun, huh?" Ryan winked at the kid and felt a pillow slap him in the back. "I do not nag," Tina insisted. There was laughter in her voice even though she was obviously trying to hide it. "Timmy, tell Ryan I don't nag." Timmy looked up at Ryan, an ear-to-ear grin on his young face. "I'm getting kind of hungry," he told Ryan, purposely ignoring his Mom, bonding, Ryan realized, with the only other male in the room. "Do you think we could get something to eat?" We. Yes, the kid was definitely doing the little guy/big man-bonding thing. Ryan stared down at Timmy for several long heartbeats as sensations of unidentifiable sources drifted through him. "Absolutely," he finally said and actually had to clear his throat before he went on because, geezus, that single word cracked when he said it. It was as if he'd been touched by the kid's obvious choice to turn to him rather than his mother for companionship. Or maybe it was fear. Fear the kid would get too close, start looking at Ryan as he did Dean or, Heaven help him, start looking to Ryan for the father figure all little boys craved. Ryan pushed all the garbage in his head aside. This storm was doing some funky shit to his head, his emotions. No doubt, because he was stranded in this house with these two. As soon as this storm passed and the danger subsided, Tina and Timmy could leave, and all would return to normal. "I'm not sure what's in the kitchen. I haven't spent much time at home lately," he confessed. Truth was, even when he spent several days in a row at home he tended not to have much more food in the house then what he suspected they would find now. "Take out or delivery is usually my thing. Do you think we could call up Pizza Hut and sweet talk someone into delivering a large meat lovers?"


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Tina snorted at that and Timmy laughed again. "As long as the person who answered is female. You pour on the charm, and you could have ten pizzas delivered in the next half hour." Ryan flashed her a look over his shoulder, waggled his brows. "Well, thank you sugar." "I'm not entirely sure that was a compliment," she told him, but she was smiling. Ryan shrugged and grinned. "I'll take it as one anyway." He turned his attention back to Timmy. "Pizza is out, but I bet we can find a jar of crunchy peanut butter and some jelly. How about a couple of sandwiches on white bread? None of that whole grain wheat sh—stuff." He quickly corrected himself. Yeah, all that time in the teams hadn't served well for his language. Sailors loved to cuss. It was a proven concept, and a SEAL was, in fact, a sailor. He, on the other hand, was a former SEAL currently talking to a nineyear-old boy. He would do good to remember that or the next thing to slap him in the back would probably be one of the lamps on his nightstands rather than a pillow. "I've got a bag of barbecue potato chips too. You know, the kind that's loaded with grease, carbs and all those yummy trans fats." He heard Tina make a sound behind him that was part groan and part chuckle, and he grinned. "I also have an entire bag of the bite sized Snickers we can devour for dessert." Timmy's expressive eyes lit up. "Can we have a soda too?" Ryan heard yet another protest behind him and leaned closer to Timmy. He dropped his voice conspiratorially but not so low that Tina would be unable to hear him. "Better. I've got cans of root beer. Way more sugar calories than soda." "If you two think you're going to tank up on sugar for the rest of the night—" "Uh oh, nagging Mom on our six. Let's split." Ryan caught Timmy around the waist and scooped him up as he bolted out of the bedroom. Timmy's laughter joined his as he ran down the hall to the kitchen with Tina also laughing and following close on his heels. ****

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"This is Gloria Seabert with Channel 5 Action News here to bring you latest report from the National Hurricane Center. Hurricane Emilio is here folks. He is expected to make landfall within the hour as a category three with winds in excess of one hundred-eleven miles an hour. As you can see from the original projected path, Emilio has shifted west again since our last update. For those of you tuning in on your radios, that puts Emilio making landfall in the Billings area. Residents of Billings can expect a storm surge of nine to twelve feet coupled with dangerous winds and a high probability of tornados. Be advised that those who have not evacuated in Billings, Silver Springs and surrounding cities are now being advised to stay in doors. The safest place to ride out this storm is in a center room of your home free of windows. Emergency officials also recommend…." Bailey Lamont heard the radio fade behind the closed door. Good. He'd turned it off. She didn't want anyone or anything interrupting her this time. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and, without bothering to knock, barged into the captain's office. Tripp sat behind the desk, his head jerking up, gaze locking with hers as she closed the door behind her, leaning on it until she heard it click shut. She glanced around the office. Yes, they were alone. It was probably the only secluded spot in the station with so many of the firefighters and their families in the building. Her cell phone was off, the volume on her department radio turned down, and there was a good five to seven feet of empty space and then a large old fashioned wooden desk between where she stood and where Tripp sat, question and concern in his beautiful eyes. She would keep that distance between them. She made sure to do that even as she moved to sit, choosing the metal foldout chair to the side of the filing cabinet near the corner rather than one of the more comfortable leather visitor chairs sitting directly in front of the desk. She wasn't stupid. She knew if she got too close to him, especially with the way she was feeling today, she would get interruption city in the biggest way. The sexual innuendo in the last part of that thought almost made her smile. It did make her remember her hand inside the fly of his jeans, her fingers brushing along…. Okay, focus without interruptions. That was the whole point here. He had laid the pen he'd been using down on the desk in front of him. His fingers rested idly on that pen now, slowly rolling it away, pulling it


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back as he watched her, waiting for her to say something. Obviously, he'd decided this time to put the conversational ball in her court. He would play the quiet game on his side while he waited for her serve. Bailey hesitated for only a moment, watched that mental ball hit the mat, then bounce up at perfect level for her imaginary racket. She swung at it. Hit it, plunging right into a powerful game in which she held the control. "I discovered something about myself this afternoon," she told him, and the sudden sound of her own voice, surprisingly steady and calm as it cut through the solid silence of the office was enough to make her ears ring. She dropped her tone a full decibel even though she hadn't spoken that loudly to start with. Had she? "I'm greedy." With that announcement, she stuck her chin higher in the air. "I want it all." Silence even thicker and more solid than before filled the room. Tripp watched her, his fingers still rolling that pen back and forth, back and forth. Silence. It lasted so long Bailey nearly stomped to the desk, snatched up the pen and hit him over the head with it while forcefully demanding he say something. Christ on a pogo stick! Didn't her declaration deserve some sort of voiced acknowledgment? "Define all," he finally said in a voice that showed the least inflection and, of course, his face was doing that completely unreadable thing again. "My career, my parents, the family life I've always known and…." She stopped, hesitated. Crap! She promised herself she wouldn't do that. "And you. I want you, Tripp." Oh, the happiness that swept into his eyes made her heart swell with more love than she thought she could feel for a man. Because she did love him. She had loved him for a long time now. Yet, she hadn't told him yet, wouldn't tell him now. It was still too soon. There was still too much to settle, to do. Simply knowing that she wanted him, hearing her say the words aloud without any form of sexual coercion would have to be enough for now. It was. She could see that in his eyes. For one of the very few times since they'd met, he wasn't trying to hide anything from her. He let her see everything he was thinking and feeling there in his face, in his eyes. Which was why she didn't miss the weariness that remained, the concern that tried to crash the party of happiness as he continued to stare at her, once again silent. He also stopped rolling that irritating pen over the papers on the desktop. Thank you for small favors. And, okay, maybe the pen hadn't been

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so irritating after all because now there was no movement in the office to focus on through the impenetrable silence. This wasn't how she had imagined this would go. She'd pictured herself barging into the office with her declaration of desires and Tripp would be both overjoyed and relieved because she was finally facing the truth about everything. She would tell him about her parents, about what she discovered, and he would be as outraged as she over her parents' deception. Then she would tell him about her plans to leave B shift so they could stop fighting this animalistic attraction they felt for one another and finally be together. So maybe the second part was taking it overboard. She wasn't outraged at her parents. Hurt, confused, frightened maybe and even a bit angry but outraged was definitely too strong a word. Her parent's didn't deserve that level of fury. After all, they had given her a fantastic life full of love and friendship and guidance. Tripp leaned forward in his seat, his gaze on her never wavering as he rested his elbows on the desktop. He'd no doubt seen the glimmer of tears that welled in her eyes at the thoughts of her parents—dammit, she'd promised herself she would not cry—and now all the happiness she'd seen vanished behind the concern. "Has something happened to your parents? They're out of town, aren't they? They're somewhere safe from Emilio's wrath?" Despite the sparkle of tears she knew he could see in her eyes, of the four things she listed—her career, her parents, the family life she'd always known, him—most men would have focused first on the part that pertained to them. Not Tripp. Instead, his focus instantly zoomed in on the one area she was still most torn up about. It was quite possibly because he believed her parents to be the one part she cared for most. "They're fine," she assured him even as she blinked back those blasted tears. "They're in Phoenix preparing for a lecture Dad is giving tomorrow. They, umm, wanted to be sure I was safe and to see if I'd had time to secure the main house as well as my cottage before reporting to the station." She had, of course, thanks to Tripp. After the alarm tones shattered their heated vacation to get-it-on-ville, they'd checked in with the captain and then proceeded to board up all windows and secure all outside items at each of the three homes: her cottage, her parent's house, and Tripp's.


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"So you haven't talked to either of them yet?" Tripp concluded grimly. "Because I had hoped that had something to do with the way you showed up on my doorstep." "It did. I mean, no, I haven't talked with them about the claustrophobia issue but yes, they did play a part in why I came to you the way I did. They played a major role, actually," Bailey said on a quick burst of humorless laughter. "I went through my father's files. I'm not really sure what possessed me to do it instead of waiting for them to come home, and I'm not sure what I expected to find. At any rate, why I did it doesn't matter as much as what was there." She took a deep breath and told him. "Adoption papers. Mine. I was adopted, Tripp. Ben and Marge are not my biological parents." Her voice hitched on the last word and she had to look away from Tripp's gaze. Dear God, she hadn't realized how incredibly difficult it would be to say those words aloud. She should have though. How stupid of her. It was hard enough to think them. Why wouldn't it be as hard if not harder to say? Bailey saw Tripp move out of the corner of her eye. He'd risen from the desk and was about to round the corner when she gathered her composure enough to stop him. "Don't. Please." She knew he was headed for her, knew he would pull her into his arms when he reached her and she wanted that. God, how she wanted that. But she also knew the instant he touched her she would shatter. That, she simply could not do. Not now. "Bailey…." Tripp began, his voice pleading. "If you touch me right now I’m going to break, and we have too much to talk about for that." "We have all night. Hell, we have the rest of our lives." Okay, hearing those words so full of promise and love coming from those lips nearly did her in. Dammit, he didn't have to touch her to make her shatter. He had only to say things like that to her. "Can I please get it all out first?" she asked, finally braving her tears enough to meet his gaze once more. He stood at the corner of the desk where she'd stopped him with her words, his expression grim, his heart in his eyes. "I feel like if I don't tell you everything at once something will happen and this will drag on forever. The rest, everything else I have to tell you, isn't as hard as…as…" She couldn't say it again. Couldn't make those

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words my and adoption form on her tongue. She settled for, "That. Other than the official documents, I didn't find anything else. I won't know anything more until I finally confront Mom and Dad." God, even calling them Mom and Dad sounded strange to her now. Would it be this way from now one? She hoped not. Tripp nodded, the movement so slight she wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been looking right at him. He hooked a leg over the corner of the desk and folded his hands on his thigh. The position was both relaxed and casual but the raw emotion in his eyes made a solid contradiction. "Okay. Tell me everything. Why don't you start with where you're going and why it seems you've been planning to leave for weeks, heck, maybe even months and you haven't once hinted anything about it to me." He didn't yell, didn't raise his voice, but the anger was there in the muscle doing a tight jump rope in his jaw, in the hard set of his eyes, and he gazed at her imploringly, waited for her to answer. He knew? How? He must have been in the hall when… "You were eavesdropping?" Bailey was too shocked to be pissed. Tripp wasn't the type to listen in on other's conversations. The idea was so unlike him she felt stupid for asking the question at all. Almost because she realized eavesdropping was the only way he could have known. "I was coming to check on you," he said in a tone that sounded of both explanation and self-defense. "I wanted to make sure you were okay after the call from your mother. I thought you might have gotten upset again, and I wanted to let you know I was there, you know, in case you needed me. I didn't know you and Dean were in there at first, and then—" He stopped abruptly, shook his head. "You know what, Bailey? It doesn't matter. Yes, I eavesdropped. Yes, it was the wrong thing to do. But dammit, how could you even think about leaving without talking to me?" Bailey flinched because his voice did rise with that last question. It rose and cracked, and more emotions, more hurt than she'd ever heard from this man spilled out. He actually thought she was leaving. Leaving! As in goodbye fire department, goodbye Silver Springs, maybe even goodbye Gulf Coast. Oh man. "You've got it all wrong," she told him, working hard now to keep her own voice level, no arguing tone, no wobbling from unshed tears. It was the last that was really hard to hide because, God, if she'd felt like crying before,


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she wanted to wail like a baby now. She'd hurt him. She'd never meant to hurt him, never wanted to. It was one of the myriad of reasons she had fought her attraction to him because seeing the pain in his eyes, hearing it in his voice, and knowing she was to blame for putting it there sliced like a knife. "Okay, then why don't you straighten things out for me, Bailey, because, even though I heard you with my own ears, I still can't believe you went to Dean instead of coming to me." He was jealous. That realization floored her quite possibly more than any of the other emotions he let her see in the few short minutes since she walked into the office. He thought she'd, what? Gone to Dean for, what exactly? She couldn't even begin to come up with a reason to justify his jealously. Unless it was a simple case of someone else knowing a secret first. Could Tripp really be that childish and petty? She stared at him for a long moment, easily able to hold his gaze now that her mind was too full of confusion for anything else. Yes, she thought, in answer to her own unanswered question. He could be that childish when it came to something like her going to Dean for help instead of Tripp because Tripp had been there for her from the beginning. It was Tripp who buried everything else he felt for her so he could give her what she'd claimed she needed most. Friendship. "Dean is helping me to get the ball rolling," she told Tripp now. She'd had this whole speech planed out, word for word what she would say and how she would say it when she finally explained it to him. All of that preparing went up in smoke, however, when his pain, anger and jealously ignited. Instead, she would have to improvise as she went along. Oh joy. Improvising had never been one of her strong suits. "I went to him because, well…" she hesitated, unsure how to explain without both hurting Tripp and making him angrier than she already had. "I went to Dean because he's higher in rank than you." Great and now she'd insulted Tripp instead. If he did feel insulted by her words, he didn't let it show. No. While she'd been attempting to formulate her thoughts, put them into coherent sentences to make him understand and set everything right, he'd slid off the desk. He leaned against it now, arms crossed over his broad chest and, didn't it figure, his expression and eyes had returned to the land of you-can't-read-me.

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"Shit," Bailey breathed. She raked her palms over her face and bit back the scream of frustration she felt bubbling in her throat. "That came out wrong. I went to Dean because I needed his help and, yeah, I knew that, because he's the captain of B shift, he could make it happen easier than you." "Make what happen?" Tripp finally spoke but the words were clipped, demanding. Clearly, his patience was wearing thin. "I'm putting in for a transfer," Bailey said in a rush. "That's where I'm going. I'm not actually leaving town or even the department. I'm just going to a different shift. C shift, most likely, since it appears they will have an opening." "You what?" Tripp asked, his voice now full of incredulity. "I'm putting in for a—" "Transfer," he cut in, finishing her sentence. He pushed himself off the desk, one arm dropped to his side while he dragged the other hand through his hair. "Yeah, I got that. Bailey, you can't be serious." "It's the perfect solution," Bailey said quickly, thinking fast for words to make him understand. And, okay, maybe perfect wasn't the best choice because it was partially a lie, and he knew it. As if that knowledge needed confirmation, his next question proved it. "Perfect for who, Bailey, for you? How? Can't you honestly tell me you want to transfer to C shift, that you would be happier there?" He didn't wait for her to answer but plunged on instead. "Perfect for B shift? As your Lieutenant, I can tell you without hesitation we need you, the Engine Company needs you, the shift needs you." "Tripp, I—" She tried but still he wouldn't let her get a word in edgewise. "Perfect for me, Bailey?" He actually pointed at his chest. Man, he was really pissed now. He hadn't started to yell. Bailey had to give him kudos for keeping his volume under control, especially in the face of such anger. And maybe it was more than pain, more than the fury causing him to go ape shit, because, holy cow, she'd never seen him like this. "Is this decision supposed to be perfect for me? Because I've got to tell you it's not. It sucks. What sucks even more is you didn't talk to me, didn't ask me how I felt before you decided."


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Bailey felt her temper spark. Like Tripp, she retained enough control not to yell but just barely. The last thing they needed was for nearly every member of the department, A, B and C shift and their families, knowing they were in the captain's office shouting each other's ears off. "No, I didn’t talk to you because it's my decision, my career." Adrenaline surged through her, and she couldn’t sit anymore. She stood and began to pace. "You think this was easy? I've tossed this idea around for months trying to—" "Months and yet you never once mentioned it to me. You come in here tonight and tell me you want me. Hell, you come to my house ready to go to bed with me, but you can't even talk to me about a major career decision like this even when it concerns me. And it is a major career decision. Don't kid yourself that it isn't. Arnold Talbot is a good Captain but he's no Dean Wolcott and you know that." Tripp finally took a breath, yet he still left her no room to comment. He continued, and his tone was a little more hurt sounding, his eyes a little more pain-filled. God, but seeing him this way was killing her! "And as for how I fit into all of this, you say you want me and yet you don't want to be with me. If you wanted—" Okay. She couldn't let that one slide. "You're wrong, Tripp," she spoke over him. "I'm doing this because I want to be with you." But he was still talking, obviously determined to finish his sentence. "— to be with me you wouldn't be putting even more distance between us." "How am I? I don't—what are you—?" Bailey stammered, confusion clogging her brain. More distance? She didn't understand. "We work a twenty-four on forty-eight off schedule, Bailey. When B shift is off for those forty-eight hours, who do you think is here manning the station?" Bailey glared at him because now he was talking to her like a two year old with a learning disability. "Oh, I don't know Tripp, how about Snow White and her seven dwarves," she answered and let the sarcasm drip from her words. "Or, no, wait, Santa Clause and his elves. Yeah, Santa surely has more than seven elves, plenty enough to man all the trucks for A and C shift who are, incidentally, the ones here on duty when B shift is off." "Are you done?" He crossed his arms and shot her a patronizing glare.

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"Are you done?" she retorted, crossing her own arms and returning his glare with equal fight and intensity. "Because if you would calm down and think about this rationally for a few minutes you would see this really is—" "The perfect solution," Tripp spat and shook his head. "You want the perfect solution to this problem that shouldn't even be a fucking problem?" So much for her suggestion to calm down. If anything, he was getting even more riled up. God, she'd expected to have to convince him this was the right move, she'd even expected him to argue a bit, but this, well, she'd never expected him to react like this. "God Bailey, why is this such a problem for you? I've been trying for months to figure it out and," he shook his head, let his arms fall to his sides, "I can't. There is no rule in this department stating we can't work together. You know that. I've told you that. Dean has told you that. Yet you continue to use it as, I don't know, an excuse." Bailey's temper didn't just spark at that one. It flamed. An excuse! He actually thought… "I am not, nor have I ever used it as an excuse. You're not a woman trying to be seen as equal in a man's world, in a man's career. You have no idea what it's like to have to prove yourself worthy of a job you know you can do as well as the next guy, only no one else believes it because you're a woman." "That's bullshit. You're treated like every other man on B shift." "Am I, Tripp? Am I really? How many times have you heard the guys whispering about what a great ass you have? How many times has one of them tried to do your job for you because they don't believe you're strong enough? How often have you worried about what kind of freaking cream you put in your coffee while you're in the main kitchen because you didn't want guys to call you a sissy for drinking anything with a bit of flavor? Shit Tripp, how often has Ryan Magee tried to get into your pants?" "I know you dealt with a lot out of the guys when you first joined the department but now, well, you have to know any of it these days is meant to be taken as a joke. Even Magee has stopped any serious attempts to get you into bed. Do you really think any of that will be different on C shift? If anything, you'll have to start all over again, proving yourself to those guys." "And if I stay on B shift and allow myself to have you, I will become exactly what I don't want. I will be someone's property." Bailey fired back at him, the idea making her cringe all the way to her boots. "If everyone knows


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you and I are involved they will see me as the lieutenant's woman. I won't be Bailey Lamont, kick ass firefighter assigned to Engine Co. 1, an assignment, might I remind you, that I worked my tail off to get. No. All of those guys out there will see me as your woman. Especially since you are not only B shift's lieutenant but you also respond with the Engine Company." "A couple of the men may think that way at first, but—" "I don't want them thinking that way at all! This is my career, Tripp. I love being a firefighter as much as you do, and I want to be seen as an equal, not as another firefighter's possession or a weaker member because I'm a woman, and I just think…." "You think being on the same shift with me is going to fuck that up for you," he said hotly, but it was more than mere temper making his voice rise now. It was hurt. She was hurting him more and more. Dammit all to hell. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted to happen. Bailey took a deep breath and when she spoke again she sounded calm which was good because she felt anything but calm right now. "I think it will be easier for the guys to see me as an equal, separate from you, if they aren't constantly reminded of our relationship. I told you when I walked in here, I'm greedy. I want it all. I think the best way for me to have that is to transfer to C shift. I talked this over with Diane too. She agrees it's a good idea. She—" "Diane who?" "Diane Moss, my psychiatrist." The explanation was out of her mouth before she realized she even needed to stop it. She hadn't told Tripp about her visits with the shrink. Though he'd encouraged her to find one, someone who could offer her additional advice and guidance on how to overcome her fears and those pesky nightmares, she hadn't discussed it with him beyond her hesitant half-hearted agreement that he could be right. She actually owed Jackson the credit for finding Diane. It had helped, talking to Diane about all of her problems, her fears, her nightmares. It had also helped to talk to Diane about Tripp. But the one thing Bailey hadn't done was talk to Tripp about Diane. Tripp's eyes widened slightly but that was the only indication he gave of just how deeply Bailey's words sliced at his very soul. Well, the widening of his eyes and the quiet sound his boots made on the tiled floor as he walked

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past her. He didn't slam the door behind him as he left the office. Instead, he pulled it closed, and the click it made was one Bailey would never forget.


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Chapter 10 "If lurking around windows all afternoon makes me a peeping Tom, what are you? Every time you've disappeared from my sight since you walked into my house I find you lurking in the doorway of one room or another." Tina smiled and started to step back when Ryan's arm slid around her waist from behind. His hand flattened on her belly, half on the waistband of her shorts, half touching the flesh left exposed by her cutoff shirt. She felt him lean in behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck as he continued to whisper. "He'll be okay in here, you know. No windows, no doors, nothing on the ceiling or walls to fall should an earthquake hit." Tina turned her head slightly and felt Ryan's nose brush her neck. "Is this your first hurricane? Because I've been through a few over the years that I've lived on the Gulf Coast and I'm pretty sure earthquakes are not a product of a hurricane. Tornados, yes, and lots of wind and rain but earthquakes…" She shook her head, loving the way the faint coarseness of his day's growth of beard felt on her flesh as her neck moved too. "He's safe," Ryan said in an obvious attempt to reassure her. "He's asleep. That light you turned on for him is made for storms. The battery will last most likely through the night. And it's not like you're going too far. You can stay here all night, his own personal Guardian Angel who never sleeps, or you can come down the hall with me." His arm tightened around her waist, and he began to tug her back. Tina didn't resist, instead stepping back with him as he pulled her with him down the hall. Still, she couldn't let his words pass without a comment. "I am his personal Guardian Angel." Ryan was instantly contrite. She felt it in the way his arm tensed around her, in the way he briefly let his forehead rest on the back of her neck as he

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stopped with her in the hallway. He used his grip on her waist to turn her to face him. Not that she could see him now that they'd moved out of the dim glow of the light offered by the battery powered storm lamp she'd turned on in the room where Timmy now slept. "You're a good one too. The best. I want you to know that, Tina. I'm sorry I ever thought…." Tina's heart was now completely lodged in her throat. Not that it had wiggled back down much since it took up residence there when she'd watched Ryan run with her son in his arms down this very hallway. Her heart planted trees around its new home some time later as she sat Indian style on the red carpeted floor, a plate with a half eaten PB and J sandwich and a pile of the greasiest barbeque chips she'd ever tortured her body with, and watched Ryan with Timmy. She'd listened quietly as they discussed which was the better movie, Saving Private Ryan or We Were Soldiers. Tina, not much of a military buff herself, had thought the two movies portrayed different wars and she'd broken her silence long enough to ask. Yes, Tom Hanks and his portrayal of Private Ryan took place during WWII while Mel Gibson waited a few years for his appearance as a commanding officer in the Viet Nam War. Tina did know a good bit about We Were Soldiers. Given it was Timmy's favorite, though she'd yet to actually watch the movie herself, it played on the television often enough she knew the dialogue word for word. Ryan's favorite of the two was Saving Private Ryan, for obvious reasons, Tina guessed. The battle talk between boy and man had segued into a discussion about war games and real military life—Timmy had been particularly interested in Ryan's time in the service, a part of their conversation Tina suspected Ryan had censored a lot—followed by a short contest, thank you Jesus, on who could burp the most letters of the alphabet in one sequence. Yes, that had been a joy to observe. Tina smiled now at the memory and the knowledge that the whole malebonding, noise-making scene had been a product of her own making. Yep, that's what she got for trying to be a Mom. She'd made the mistake of telling Timmy, more conversationally than in true reprimand, that he shouldn't talk with his mouth full of PB and J. Ryan had then proceeded to take Timmy's side, winking at the boy while at the same time giving Tina a grin that made


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her knees tingle and informing her they were guys. They were, in fact having a guy talk. "Yeah, Mom," Timmy had then interjected around a particularly large bite of this sandwich. The fact they were eating on the floor aside, hadn't she taught the boy any table manners? "Guys talk with their mouths full all the time." "We also belch and fart," Ryan had added helpfully. "Oh God! Can we please leave those parts out of this male exchange?" Tina had asked on a bark of laughter. "At least while I'm in the room." Ryan and Timmy had exchanged shrugs but, of course, Ryan had been unable to leave it at that. "Guess I'll have to burp the alphabet for you some other time," he'd told Timmy in a loud, conspiratorial whisper. Timmy had been obviously impressed. "Can you really do the whole thing?" And so the contest began. "You're really great with him too, you know?" Tina told Ryan now. She couldn't help it. She had to touch him. She lifted her hand, connecting first with his collarbone in the darkness before she felt her way up. The stubble on his cheek and jaw felt like coarse sandpaper to her palm as she cupped the side of his face. She could tell by the angle of his head he was looking down at her just as she was looking up at him though neither of them could see anything but the blackness between them. Then again, he'd once been a SEAL. Operatives were trained to see in less than bright situations like this, weren't they? "Thank you for that," she said quietly and dared to rise to her tiptoes in search of a quick kiss. She found his lips with little search at all. Her eyes may not work worth a poop in the dark but apparently her senses were on the money. She brushed her lips over his and barely restrained herself from adding, And thank you for making me fall even deeper in love with you. Yeah, Tina had felt herself falling as she'd watched the byplay between Timmy and Ryan. Truth was, she'd already been half in love with Ryan before that. It wasn't as though she fell in love with any man who cut up with and showed attention to her son. If that were the case, she would have been head over tennis shoes in love with Dean Wolcott a long time ago. No. Despite his unswerving affection for her son, Dean had never turned Tina to toast. Not that he'd ever tried. She and Dean cemented a friendship from the start, one where there had been no need to set any sort of

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boundaries. They'd never ever discussed something between them beyond friends. But even if Dean had tried, Tina knew it wouldn't have happened because her toaster, as it were, had been unknowingly waiting for her right here in this dark and narrow hallway. Unknowingly because Tina didn't doubt for a second if she told Ryan everything that went through her mind at this moment, all she felt, she would be eating his dust as he ran from her straight into the raging storm, terrified out of his blue jeans. "He's a great kid," Ryan said simply. He returned her kiss, a soft brush of his lips to hers, but pulled back before either of them could take the kiss to the next level. "That's all because of you, you know? It's got to be because I've yet to hear anyone speak of his father. So why don't you leave Timmy to his peaceful sleeping, come back to my room and let's talk." "You want to talk?" Tina made it more an amused statement than a stunned question. Still, stunned was exactly how she felt because Timmy's father was the last conversation she'd expected to have with Ryan Magee. Her stunned index was magnified ten-fold by the idea that Ryan invited her to his room to talk and not to… "Is that what you've decided to call it now?" He laughed, a quiet, husky sound that in the darkness with only her senses of feel and hearing available to her, made any amusement that continued to linger morph into an electrical current of pure lust and preorgasmic eroticism. No doubt about it, if her sexual desires could glow right now there would be no need for candles or flashlights for the rest of the night. "Yes and no." He began slowly moving backward again, his arms still around her waist as he pulled her with him. "Yes, I want to talk. No, that isn't a euphemism for sex. We have all night. We're finally alone. Something tells me your son could sleep through a hurricane." He stopped both walking and talking and laughed. "Well, duh, I hope so considering that's what's going on outside." Tina laughed too, mesmerized by this man who could set her temper blazing even as he made her panties wet enough to put out the fire. This man who crawled into her heart with his story of abuse and neglect and his own personal strength to get through it all and then made her laugh so easily after bringing her so close to tears. Yeah, she was toast. She was burnt toast, so crispy she was nearly flaking apart at the man's feet. Who would have thought?


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And he wanted to talk. Chalk that one up to the surprise of the century. Unless…. "What about that promise you made me?" Tina couldn't help but ask. The promise in which he assured her what she started in the living room wouldn't end until the storm ended. "Oh, I have no intentions of reneging on that promise, sugar." As if to add emphasis to his huskily murmured words, his hands started to slide up, beneath the bottom of her shirt. His palms felt like smooth hot chocolate to her cool bare flesh and she closed her eyes even as they rolled back in her head. She breathed a quiet, "Oh yeah," when his fingers grazed the lower edge of her bra but then he stopped. His hands did a much quicker slide back to her waist then they had on their upward glide, and Tina's eyes flew open, a protest on the tip of her tongue. Not that either did her any good. Her eyes had adjusted only marginally to the darkness but nowhere near well enough to see him and any protests she might have made were interrupted when he continued. "In the bedroom earlier, you said you wanted to know me." Hesitation and uncertainty were two things Tina never would have thought to associate with Ryan Magee, yet she felt them now. No way could they be feigned emotions either. The man was a firefighter, a former combat soldier, not an Oscar nominee actor. "Well, I uh, I want to know you too." Ho now! The surprises kept on coming. Tina's heart stopped. For a moment, she wondered if her ears were auditioning for a spot on Last Comic Standing. No way had Ryan Magee confessed a desire to get to know her. Except, Holy Toledo Batman, that was exactly what he'd said. He meant it too. All of this I'm-too-nervous-for-my-jeans energy she sensed was definitely no act. It couldn't be. Why would it be? Surely he knew no lies were necessary if his primary goal were simply to fulfill that promise and take her to his bed for the night. Hell, he had her half way there already! "I figured we would get the conversation segment of the rest of the evening out of the way first because I can't imagine either of us having much to say beyond 'oh yes' and 'please more' once I get your clothes off." Tina laughed, closed her eyes, and let her head fall forward to rest on his chest. "I knew it. I knew you couldn't keep sex out of the conversation for long."

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"Sure I can. Might I remind you I said I want to talk? You were the one who implied the kind of chatting I had in mind was sexual." Tina couldn't argue that one. She also couldn't ignore the nausea that started to churn in her belly. Had he expected that of her just as she had of him? Had he known the moment Timmy was asleep and they were alone she would maneuver her way into his bed? Had he expected it because of the way he'd always thought of her? No. She couldn't believe that. She wouldn't. He knew she wasn't anything like his mother had been. He'd admitted he'd been wrong to think so poorly of her all this time. He'd apologized. She'd even started to believe his slutty outlook of her, his clumping her into the abusive and neglectful category with his mother had been more of a safety net for him then his true belief. Because Ryan Magee had been scared. He was still scared of losing his heart to her. He wanted her. Tina could feel it in his touch, in his kisses, hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. Looking back, she could see he'd always wanted her. The instant attraction she'd felt for this man hadn't been one sided after all. It simply affected them in different ways. For Tina, it opened a whole new world of wet dreams and fantasies that bordered on the obsessive. For Ryan, it opened a world of uncertainty and denial that more than bordered on fear. She knew fear started it all. It was that fear he battled now, that fear putting a new indecision inside her. Would there ever come a time with this man that she would feel comfortable in initiating sex and not wonder if he would think her a slut for doing so? Ryan caught her hands in his, held them as he turned and led her the last few steps to his bedroom. He stopped with her at the foot of his bed and spun her in a practiced move that brought her hard against the front of his body. It surprised a laugh out of her, and she looked up, glad they had left a couple of votive candles burning safely in deep glass holders on the nightstands. Not that the flickering yellowish-orange light did much good. Now that she could finally see him, his face had gone unreadable, his eyes blank of emotions. It made her nervous, him gazing at her that way, her unable to even venture a guess as to the thoughts going through his mind. She couldn't say why exactly, and maybe it wasn't nerves but rather awareness that jittered


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her system. Too often, this man made her feel so much, things she never before experienced, that it was hard for her to define all that happened inside her. Either way, she liked it better when she could anticipate his mood, his thoughts, his actions. She rose to her tiptoes with fully intending on kissing him. Apparently, she wasn't as good as him at putting on a poker face because he pulled back before her lips found his. The attempt did the trick though. Well, almost. She failed at getting the kiss but succeeded in breaking through his impassive expression. He smiled as he backed away, and his eyes danced with amusement. "Uh-uh, you wouldn't let me use sex to distract you when you wanted to talk. I'm not letting you distract me. Now sit," he told her and actually gave her a gentle push onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me about Timmy's father." Tina sighed and scooted farther back on the bed. "There isn't much to tell." Shane Walker had abandoned them both before Timmy's first birthday. It was a classic story of the dead-beat dad who walked away without a lick of responsibility or remorse. His leaving was also the best thing that ever happened to Tina or Timmy. Even after nearly nine years of his absence, of struggles and hardships, she still believed that. "Okay," Ryan nodded. He sat down on the bed but, as Tina had done with him earlier, he made sure to keep the span of nearly half the bed as distance between them. "We'll come back to him later. Tell me about your parents instead." "There isn't really much to tell there either." Her life had been so simplistic compared to what she knew about his, and she didn’t even know all there was to know about his past. Hers was the classic middle class struggling not to become lower class scenario. A happy enough existence but one in which the work never ended and one was always left wanting more. Ryan narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't make me bend you over my knee and spank the story out of you." Oh God. Flames licked the walls of her pussy, instant and blazing hot. He wouldn't do that. He couldn't. Her gaze fell to said knee, to the wide expanse of his muscular thighs. She pulled her gaze up to his arms, strong and long with hands that could easily and completely span her ass. Then she met his eyes and there was no blankness there anymore. What she found

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instead was undisguised, pure hormonal intent. Yes, he would do that and, oh yes, he definitely could. "Tempting." She tried to sound flip, as if his threat hadn't brought every nerve ending in the lower half of her body on full scale anticipatory alert. From the sound of that one word, even to her own ears, she feared she'd failed. Yeah, that one word, tempting, rang with the plea of please, please! Certainly not flip. "Tina." Ryan made her name a warning, but the corners of his lips twitched, ruining his authoritative effect. Tina caved. "Okay, okay. Really, it isn't that I don't want to tell you about my life." To let you in to my life, she added silently. In truth, she'd already allowed this man into hers and Timmy's lives. She hadn't realized it at the time. Letting a man in this way was something she didn't do. She dated, infrequently, but it still counted. She'd even had a short-term boyfriend or two over the years. But she never let them in. Not as far as she allowed Ryan in this day alone. God help her. Opening their lives to a man meant setting herself and, more importantly, Timmy, up for a fall. Yet, here she was about to open the door to their lives wider for this man. So okay, he wanted to know her, he wanted to step through that door. She would let him and once he was inside, she would close that door behind him. "It's just that…." Tina continued but faltered. "Well, my life hasn't been anything like yours. My parents are alive, still married after thirty years and happy. My grandparents even lived out full and happy lives. All four of them! Mom and Dad, their names are Claudia and Bruce, still live in the same house where I grew up in Cordova, Tennessee. And, okay, I'm making them sound like the Cleavers or something." She had to smile at the image of her mother in her daily dress covered by a crisp, clean apron baking pies in the kitchen. "Maybe they are, or were, I should probably say. My father isn't in the best of health. He worked at a factory for, wow, I don't know how many years exactly. Anyway, Mom has never worked a day in her life and, well, they were good at saving but money has been tight the last five years or so. They're struggling." She laughed slightly. "Who isn't struggling these days, huh? But they're making it well enough, and they're happy. I help them out when I can. You know, send them a check now and then when I have a little extra."


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"You send your parents money?" Ryan was looking at her now with utter disbelief in his eyes. Disbelief and something else. Was that admiration, maybe? "You have to work three jobs to make ends meet, and you send them anything extra you have?" "Not everything extra. Stop looking at me like that," she demanded when his disbelieving, admiring gaze morphed into a quiet, gaping astonishment. "I don't send them money often. Just, you know, when I happen to have some that I can spare and neither Timmy nor I need anything at that moment. They're my parents. They would do it for me if the could. They have done if for me in the past." "So you're close to them. That's good. It must be nice. I had friends, well, acquaintances really, more like kids I knew with an extra bed they didn't mind my sleeping in a night or two when I was on the street. They were close to their parents. I was always a bit envious of them." Tina's eyes widened in horror. "You lived on the street? Oh my God, Ryan. For how long?" He shrugged. "Not long. A few months." The few months between his mother's death and his enlistment into the Navy, Tina deduced. "I thought you went to stay with your father. I mean, I just assumed." "My father wasn't in a position to take me in so…." He stopped and shook his head. Then he grinned at her. "You know, you're pretty good at avoiding subjects too, aren't you? Nice try, sugar, but this is Tina-bare-allhour. My time happened before our little impromptu dinner in the playroom." "And I missed it. Darn. I've been waiting for you to bare all since we met." And, maybe that sexual innuendo was a bit too much to admit. Still, she said it. Might as well roll with it. "But okay, if you want me to bare all first…." She reached for the bottom of her shirt. "Oh no, you don't." Ryan laughed and caught her wrists. "That isn't what I meant, and you know it. As tempting as it is to let you continue, I'm not going to let you distract me with sex." His words sounded oddly familiar and she realized they were the ones she'd used earlier when he'd attempted to distract her. But there was a big difference between then and now, aside from the obvious that it was Ryan getting her to talk instead of the other way around. Then, Timmy had been

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awake and the interruption possibility factor had been high. Now, he was asleep. As a mother, Tina knew how precious free time could be. A mother had to make the most of free time when she got it, and that was what she wanted to do with Ryan, make the most of this time they had together. They could talk later. Right now, 'oh God' and 'please more' as he so aptly predicted, were the only words she wanted to say. Ryan let go of her wrists but not before he tugged her hands away from her shirt and placed them on the bed on either side of her hips. Then he retreated again, moving even farther away from her. Another inch or so and he would be sitting on the floor. Apparently, he didn't trust himself within an inch of her. Hmm, she thought as an idea began to spark. "You're close to your parents, yet you live hundreds of miles apart," he said, rewinding their conversation by a few minutes. Damn, but the man was determined. Who knew Ryan Magee would ever pick talking over sex? "Why? I mean, most people who are close to their parents often live close to them. What brought you to the Coast when they're still in Tennessee?" "Shane." At Ryan's blank look, Tina clarified. "My ex. Moving here was his idea, but that's another story." "Another story in which there isn't much to tell?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Touché." Tina laughed and lay back on the bed. The irony of the moment, of her sprawled on the bed while he sat on the edge, no doubt battling the urge to touch her, wasn't lost on her. She turned her head to one side and, yes, he was definitely fighting to keep his hands to himself. So much so that he'd actually locked them together around one bent knee. He looked like a magazine advertisement for a musky new male cologne and, God, how she wanted those hands to touch her again. "Why didn't you move back after you and Shane split?" Tina examined him, the spark of an idea turning to full inspiration, and she knew what to do to distract him. "My father wanted me to move back." She lifted her right leg, pretended to scratch her ankle and, yes, he was studying her. Jackpot! She let her hand glide up her shin, drew a circle around her kneecap with the tip of one finger then continued up all the while watching as Ryan's eyes glazed with lust.


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"Mom did, too, of course but Dad got pretty pissed at me when I refused." She slowly stretched out her leg as her hand glided up her thigh to the hem of her shorts. Ryan's gaze followed. "He didn't understand, and sometimes I still wonder if he ever really got it or if he just got tired of being mad at me." She let a finger dip beneath the hem of her shorts, skim under and across her thigh before she pulled it free, moved back on top of the thin cotton material. Ryan gulped. "Why didn't you…." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, his eyes still glued to her hand as her fingers danced to the waistband of her shorts. "Why didn't you move back? Why stay here?" "I'd started building a life here." She let her fingers linger on the bare flesh of her stomach between the waistband of her shorts and the bottom of her shirt while she answered him and remembered. She had wanted to go home. After Shane walked out on her and Timmy, she had even gone so far as to begin packing their things before she'd stopped to reconsider. Running back to her parent's wide-open arms was taking the easy way out. Somehow, Ryan read more into her words than what she said. Or maybe he was simply reading her mind again. He seemed to be pretty good at that today. "You wanted to make a life on your own," he said quietly. His gaze met hers for a brief instant, then she shifted her hand, and absent twitch of her fingers on her belly, and his attention slid down once more. "I did," she admitted. "I knew, if I went back home, Mom and Dad would want to take care of me and Timmy, and I didn't want that. I was twenty years old, and I suddenly found myself single with an infant son. It was time to grow up." She shrugged and the moment caused her shirt to climb. Ryan, of course, noticed, and he actually licked his lips as if imagining how her stomach would taste, how it would feel to his tongue. "I knew I would grow up a lot slower if I had my parents around to provide for me, to solve all of my troubles. My Dad would have done it too. He tried. He wanted Timmy and I to move back home. Not just back to the same town, but into my parent's house. When I told him I didn't want that, he found a place down the street to rent for us, rent he intended to pay, of course." "He wanted to help you." Ryan shifted, moving to stretch out on the bed. Yet he still kept that distance between them. He propped his head on

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one hand, his gaze transfixed on her fingers. Fingers that had begun to climb again even without Tina noticing. She played absently with her own stomach now, alternating a light caress, a slow, smooth slide, a pause as she reflected on her past, her present. "I know everything he tried to do was all with the best of intentions at heart. I would do the same for Timmy. I will do the same for Timmy should he ever need it and want my help. But if I had given in to my father, I might still be depending on him and Mom for help. Timmy and I may not have the best life, but it's good. We might have to eat Spaghetti Os a couple of nights a week sometimes to afford the new cleats he needs for the next baseball season but, hey, we both love Spaghetti Os and they are high in vitamins and protein." The bed shifted again, and she realized Ryan was moving closer. He lay next to her, his long frame stretched along side hers, not quite touching but near enough she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "You want to know the best part?" she asked him, angling her head to meet his gaze. "Everything Timmy and I have, I earned it. I worked for it. I mean, yeah, okay, there are some things we have that were given to us as gifts. But those were gifts, not pity donations. Some of the things we have, some of the clothes we wear, were bought second hand. But they were purchased because we like them, not hand-me-downs because we couldn't get anything else." Her vision blurred, and she ruthlessly blinked back the tears. "There's a satisfaction in knowing that. In knowing I've provided for myself and my son and I haven't depended on someone else to do it for us." Ryan lifted his head to touch her face, the lightest of caresses at the corner of her eye, and she realized he was brushing away a tear that managed to escape. On her stomach, his other hand covered hers, held it there. "You gave up the chance for an easier life, for a free babysitting service whenever you wanted it, for free rent and who knows what else, to work three jobs, to struggle and to make a life for you and Timmy on your own." His voice wobbled, and Tina tilted her head farther back to really look at him. His expression was guarded but the glassy sheen of his eyes betrayed his emotions. The unshed tears surprised her and yet they didn't because she suddenly understood their cause. A wave of horror washed through her, so icy hot it brought goose pimples to the surface of her skin. Dear God!


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"You were right," she told him and felt another of her own tears trickle down the side of her face. "I am like your mother. Our stories, our pasts—" "No." He quickly cut her off. "How could you say that?" He rolled onto his back, somehow pulling her into his arms at the same time. "You know you aren't like her. You could have been. If you had chosen a different path, but instead you chose to stand on your own, to fight, to be a better woman and, most importantly, a mother." Tina pushed herself up on one elbow so she could gaze down at him. What he was saying was true. If she had made one decision differently, just one choice at all, she could have ended up with a life that mirrored his mother's. Why hadn't she recognized that similarity, that possibility earlier when she listened to him talk? "I'm glad I got my priorities in line before I really messed things up," she admitted to him now. "I'm not perfect, some of the choices I've made haven't been perfect, but I can honestly say I feel I learned from my mistakes." "They made you stronger, made your relationship with Timmy stronger too. You are one hell of an amazing woman, Tina Walker." Tina melted against him. "Thank you." The words seemed so inadequate, and yet she could think of nothing else to say. He thought she was amazing. She wasn't. She was simply a single mom who always tried to do her best to give her son the best. Still, that made her amazing in this man's eyes. No way was she going to argue with him. Not when she could see so much more in those eyes, so much more he'd yet to admit to her, possibly, no probably, even to himself. "I'm glad I got the chance to realize that before…." He let his words trail off even as his hand began to inch its way under her shirt. He shook his head. "I'm just glad I was wrong about you." "Me too." Before what? She wanted to ask, but that slow glide of his hand on her flesh served as one hell of a distraction. This time, she let them both become distracted. She looked over at him, waggled her eyebrows and laughed. "Is that your way of telling me it's time to talk now?" He laughed too, a quick burst of amused air that just as quickly turned to a husky tone of unadulterated lust. "Is that what you've decided to call it now?"

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Tina smiled at his no doubt intentional use of the question she'd asked him out in the hallway. "Yeah, I think it's a good name for it. You've got to admit, we do seem to be good at certain forms of conversation," she answered and, still smiling, she sat up, caught the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it up and over hear head. She didn't give him time to react, instead, tossing the shirt aside and reaching behind her to free the clasp of her bra. "Talking is great though I know of another form of communication we've yet to try. I bet we'll be fantastic at that one." Ryan exhaled, a hard push of air from his lungs as her bra landed in a pile with her shirt. He made a sound that was part moan, part whimper and when she skimmed her hands over her abs, caught her breasts in her palms she felt almost certain he would burst into tears. Happy tears, of course. "This, uh…." He swallowed hard, and Tina brushed her thumbs over her nipples. He tried again. "This other form of communication, it's a silent one, right? Because I don't think I'll be any good at it otherwise." "Really?" Tina scooted until she sat on her knees and reached for the waistband of her shorts. "I don't think you will have much difficulty finding the words. As a matter of fact, I can think of a few I'm sure will come to you very easily." "Such as?" "Such as 'oh yeah and please more.'" Tina kept her eyes locked with his as she hooked her thumbs in the elastic band and pulled her shorts and panties down to her knees. "Oh yeah," Ryan breathed. His gaze heated to thermo nuclear temperature as it fell to her pussy. He grinned, chuckled, blew out a hard burst of supercharged air all the while looking at her with such a level of intense desire it nearly made her cum. "Please, more," he said and reached for her.


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Chapter 11 Ryan reached for Tina and could all but see his heart in the palms of his hands, as if he were offering it to her. He tried not to think about that as she came to him, tried to ignore how completely right it felt as she pressed her naked body against his chest. He was grinning like an idiot. He knew it and yet he couldn't wipe the silly grin from his face. Not even when her hands began to explore his pecs, his abs, his stomach. And when those hands made quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans and slipped inside to find his aching cock, dammed if his goofy grin didn't become wider. It was too good. Jesus God, her hands on him felt way too good. "Do you want to try that again?" she asked. She was smiling too but hers was one of pure temptation, teasing and seductive. Her panties and shorts were still around her knees and she stretched her legs, wiggled the rest of the way out of her clothes. He knew what she meant, what she wanted to hear, and he was all too happy to give it to her. How could he not? Clothed and yes, even skimpily clothed in too short shorts or a barely there bathrobe, she was an amazingly beautiful woman but naked, Christ Almighty, the woman could make a terrorist surrender with the mere promise of five-minutes alone. And wasn't that a thought? Too bad it was completely sexiest. Otherwise, he might have suggested the SEALs reconsider their standing on allowing women in the teams. Having a couple of women around for terrorist negotiations could come in handy. But not this woman. No. Tina Walker, fully clothed or as naked as the day she was born, was his. All the religious zealots, revolutionaries and nationalists, would have to find their own woman to facilitate their surrender because this woman demanded Ryan's, and he was powerless to do more than wave his white flag. And wasn't that a terrifying realization?

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Ryan let his gaze skim over Tina's gorgeously naked flesh and simply couldn't find the strength to be terrified. Especially not when she sat on her knees beside him, caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and skimmed a hand down the front of her body. Ryan's cock, already impossibly hard and aching, flexed in excited anticipation inside his jeans. He forced himself to take shallow breaths, his attention riveted by that hand sliding so infinitesimally slowly to the patch of silky soft curls he wanted so badly to feel with his own fingers. Almost there. Almost there. Almost— She stopped just before her hand disappeared between her thighs, laughed softly at the involuntary whimper that came from low in his chest. Geezus, she was going to kill him. But what a way to go. He gave her what she wanted because it so adequately expressed exactly what he wanted, what he needed. "Please, more." He added just the right amount of plea to the words. It wasn't hard when what he really wanted to do was drop to his knees and beg her to go on. She was laughing again, and he was too but his laughter nearly turned to tears when she pulled her hand away, let it fall to her side. No! Oh please, no. He cleared his throat. "Do I need to define the word more for you because I don't think you quite understand?" "Oh, I understand the definition of the word very well," she assured him. She flattened a hand in the center of his chest, her palm warm, no doubt from the heat it absorbed from her own body. God help him. Her fingers toyed with his chest hair, skimmed over his abs, his stomach, down. "So well, in fact, that I want to experience it too. Lift your hips." She reached across him, a hand on either side of his waist to grip his jeans and pull. Ryan was all too happy to oblige. He dug his heels into the mattress at the foot of the bed, gaining the leverage he needed to do just that. He even wiggled his hips for her, helping her as she tugged his jeans and boxers simultaneously over his hips and down his legs and…. "Oh yeah," she breathed, becoming distracted before she had his pants completely off. She left them stretched at his knees in favor of, oh God, wrapping her slender fingers around his erection. "I think that's supposed to be my line, sugar," he told her, pushing the words through clinched teeth as her hands tightened around his shaft, squeezed. His eyes rolled back in his head as she stroked his dick, lightly


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grazed the pad of her thumb over the engorged head of his cock, spread the bead of pre-cum she found around the sensitized flesh. "I'm staking claim to it," she told him, looking at him with a devious twinkle in her eye that had his stomach clinching in ravening hunger. Or maybe it was what those wicked fingers of hers were doing to his cock that had him almost growling like a wild animal in a heated need for prey. "You can have the other line." "You just want to hear me beg," Ryan realized, feeling sweat start to bead in tiny drops over ninety percent of his body. The other ten percent, namely the ten percent she held in a tight fist, had past the boiling point so far any perspiration there evaporated upon creation. She grinned at that, a wide, devious curve of her lips that perfectly matched the twinkle in her eyes. She shifted on the bed, turning around to lay on her side vertical to him, the front of her body facing him, all the while keeping that death grip on his dick. "You're dammed right I do. There's something about hearing the big—" She broke off, glanced at his cock, looked back at him and expelled a breath. "That word seems to have new meaning given the oh my God size of what I'm currently holding. Anyway, there's something about hearing the big, tough, in-control Ryan Magee beg that really does it for me." "I don't beg often." In truth, he'd never wanted a woman bad enough to beg. Women had always been a dime a dozen to him. There had always been a woman waiting for him somewhere. He had only to flash her a semiinterested look and a smile and there would be one right there, ready to climb into his bed. Sometimes he'd even run across a woman who begged. But not him. Ryan Magee never begged. Except, hadn't he done just that moments ago with his please more response? Hadn't he thought of getting on his knees and begging her for more? Naw, that hadn't been begging. Not really. He wouldn't have really dropped to his knees that way. He'd merely said the words, added that pleading lilt to his tone to tease her, to please. Hadn't he? Ryan lay on his back, his legs still clothed from the knees down, bent and dangling off the foot of the bed and stared at the woman who partially lay across his thighs. He let his gaze drink her in, let himself become momentarily lost in the promising yet devilish depths of her eyes. Then she

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started to move, and he knew if any woman could ever make him beg, it was this one. Sweet Jesus! He was a goner. Tina lifted her free hand, at the same time, slowly raising her left leg, opening herself, exposing a set of perfect, pouty, pink lips lightly covered by a thin strip of dark curls. When she returned her hand to the place just above that patch of curls where she'd stopped mere minutes ago, she looked at him with one eyebrow raised, her expression both questioning and faintly amused. "Are you sure you don't beg?" It was quite possible her voice held as much power as her hands when it came to teasing. Possible but not likely, he decided when her hand on his cock drew a slow stroke up his shaft even as her other hand continued on its southward path to disappear between her thighs. Too much more of this and he would certainly be ready to start. He watched her, forcing his eyes to stay open because, geezus, the things she was doing to his dick made him want to do nothing more than lay here and enjoy. Except her hand was between her legs, and he couldn't not watch to see what she would do next. His gaze danced from that hand to her eyes, back to the hand as it slipped even farther between her parted thighs, back to her eyes that had suddenly gone glassy and heavy lidded and, fuck yes, she was fingering herself. "Please." The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, and her eyes opened all the way, shone with a flash of victory. She thought he was about to beg. God, he was on the verge, closer than he'd ever been to begging for anything in his life. But, no way, could he let her win this easily. "You should let me do that more for you." She ginned at him, obviously catching his play on the words of the line she'd assigned him. "Nice," she said approvingly, her tone breathless from the pleasure she was giving herself with her fingers. "Thanks, but I think I've got it handled." Ryan wanted to argue, started to reach for her but, as he continued to watch, she withdrew her fingers from her pussy. Even in the dim flicker of the candle light he could see the sheen of her wetness coating those fingers, and he couldn't stop himself from licking his lips, couldn't stop the husky groan that rolled from low in his throat. She brought those fingers to his cock, swirled them over the tip, pushing one finger down on the slit and


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mixing her juices with his pre-cum. He marveled at both the intense concentration on her face and at the razor sharp sparks of pure erotic pleasure that tore through him, and when she brought those cum-drenched fingers to her lips he felt himself start to hyperventilate. Was she really going to? Yes, she was. Thank you, sweet heaven above. Gaze locked with his, Tina sucked her fingers into her mouth, licking, tasting, devouring their juices. It was the sexiest sight he'd ever seen, and when she slowly pulled her fingers from her mouth, he couldn't stop himself. "Please, more." Victory. He saw it swim into her eyes doing a happy dogpaddle with the lust and passion already engaged in a sumptuous wave. Got ya. She didn't say it. She didn't have too. Her expression said it all, and she was right, she had him. "Come here." Ryan held out his arms for her, and she caught them, pushed them over his head as she came to him. Her lips were on a direct course with his. She tasted sweet, warm and faintly salty. She tasted familiar, in the way he'd come to expect from the past kisses they shared. He tasted himself too and, oh baby, the mixture of their flavors was such a freaking turn-on it nearly made him cum. Tina nipped at his lower lip, drew it between hers, her tongue stroking it as if to sooth the pain her bite caused. She controlled the kiss, controlled him, her arms stretched to hold his to the mattress above his head as she feasted on his lips, devoured his mouth. Her tongue was like silk, moving over his, tangling, teasing, and she smiled at the involuntary groan he made when she slowly pulled back. But she wasn't done. Her lips moved over his cheek, down his jaw, his neck, her naked body sliding down his chest, lower as she licked her way over muscles and nerve endings that made his whole body weak. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to do everything to her she was doing to him right now and then some, but he fisted his hands over his head and gritted his teeth against the needs attempting to control him. She was in control, he reminded himself. She wanted it that way. She'd made it abundantly clear by pinning him to the bed. So he would let her have her wish for now. At least until he could no longer bear all she did to him. She

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licked her way across his chest, her tongue silken and damp on his fiery flesh, and he knew he wouldn't be able to bear it for long. Her beaded nipples grazed down his abs, his stomach, as her mouth continued on its southward path, her tongue igniting a blazing conflagration every where it licked, and then, God yes, she took him in her mouth, and he knew heaven was just a few heartbeats away. "Tina." He ground her name from between his teeth as his hips involuntarily jerked, arched. Her lips closed around the engorged head of his cock, her tongue tucked against the ultra sensitive skin beneath the fold, and she began to suck. His body jerked, writhed on the bed and his fingers fisted so tight he felt his nails digging into his palms. His balls tightened, screaming in both pure pleasure and convoluted agony, burning as though a whip had been laid to them. It was torture of the greatest kind, and he could do nothing but lie there, flailing on the bed as she had her way with his dick, with his balls, with him. He'd only thought her touch felt too good before but this. Christ, it felt as though she were sucking his very soul from his body. And the sounds she made as she sucked him deeply, tongue licking at that too sensitive flesh as her mouth tightened, working his cock deeper, farther down her throat. Oh man, but the moans she made, the noises, soft and sweet and oh so erotic, that told him she was enjoying this as much as he was quite possibly an even bigger turn-on. Tina drew his cock to the roof of her mouth, pulled on him until it felt she might milk all the life from his body then slowly released her hold. She eased back until his dick nearly fell from her lips, drawing it back in so slowly it made his balls tingle and he heard the word spill from his throat before he could even think to stop it. "Please! God, Tina. Please, baby." Her hair fell across his thighs like a silky curtain, and he fought the urge to grab it, fist his fingers in her long dark strands and take control of the movement of her head. He wanted to thrust, fast and hard, into her mouth, down her throat. God, he wanted it so bad he almost couldn't stop himself from doing it. But he wanted to give her what she wanted more, and if giving him the blowjob of his life was what she longed for then who the hell was he to argue? She peered at him from beneath her long dark lashes, her lips around the head of his cock, his balls in one of her hands, and she looked so


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dammed sexy that way, he knew it was a picture he would never forget for as long as he lived. Her eyes glistened with excitement, pleasure, need and, yes, triumph. She was making him do exactly what he swore he wouldn't. She was making him beg. "I don't want to cum this way, sugar," he told her, his voice breathless, heated, needy, but he didn't give a damn anymore. She knew what she was doing to him. His body betrayed him minutes ago. There was no point attempting to hide it now. "Let me touch you, taste you. Let me be inside you when I cum. Let me make you cum." She didn't stop. Instead, she took more of him, sucking his cock in, swallowing as much of his length as she could take in a single swift move that had him grabbing the bed sheets in a death grip of the most exquisite pleasure he'd ever felt. "Holy shit," he breathed, sweat trickling down his forehead. "Tina, baby, please." She did it again. Slowly letting his cock slide from her mouth, squeezing the lower part of his shaft with her hand before she released it to suck him down again, to swallow. Her throat muscles flexed around the head of his cock, and his balls tightened with his need for release. "Dammit Tina," he growled, and he could have sworn he heard her laugh. Then he felt it, soft sounds that vibrated his sensitized flesh, sucking sounds, moans, sighs of sheer pleasure. They drove him mad. She was driving him mad. His balls twitched, constricted and holding back became even less of an option. "You're about to get more than you bargained for, sweetheart." She pulled back, let his dick fall from her mouth as she sat on her hands and knees, straddling him. "How do you know that isn't what I want?" Ryan looked at her, taking a minute to fight back the release that lingered on the edge. He'd been so close. Another couple of seconds and she would have been drinking his cum. Christ, he'd thought her fingers were wicked. Those fingers had nothing on that mouth of pure evil. He sat up, his gaze dropping to her lips, swollen and glistening with moisture. He touched them, grazed his thumb over them as he cupped the side of her face. Her sinful tongue snaked from between her lips to lick at his thumb, and he chuckled but quickly turned serious once more.

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"It isn't what I want," he told her and flipped her onto her back beneath him. She gasped in surprise but the sound became a low moan of pleasure as he filled his hands with her breasts. "I want to be inside you." Her legs were spread around him, and he tested her, teased, grinding his cock along the outside of her pussy lips. She was wet and ready for him and he almost took her right then before he remembered…. **** "Ryan, we need a condom." Tina whispered the words, the last ounce of her sanity that remained before she threw all caution to the flame. "Bedside table, top drawer," he told her breathlessly. He was wiggling between her legs, driving her wild as the length of his cock rubbed back and forth over the slick outer folds of her pussy. "Dammed jeans," he growled, and she realized all the squirming was to free his legs from the pants she'd left around his knees. Tina laughed. She couldn't help it. He hovered above her, his face contorted in aggravation, his legs kicking. "Are you having problems?" He narrowed his eyes at her, but his lips twitched. "I wouldn't be if you had finished your job." "I got distracted." She shrugged. "So sue me. I got the leg I wanted out of the pants. Do you need some help?" "No way. You think I'm going to let you down there again?" Tina slowly licked her lips and watched his eyes glaze over. It was exhilarating, inspiring. "Please, more." Ryan laughed, shook his head, and rolled off of her. Tina lunged for the bedside table. In seconds, she had a condom in her grasp and was turning back to him. He'd sat up in the center of the bed to pull his legs free of his jeans and boxers, tossed them aside. She paused, sat back on her heels, and let herself look at him. He was male perfection, and this moment was one she'd only ever expected to happen in her dreams. He looked at her and smiled, and her heart fluttered in her chest. He held out a hand for the condom, but his gaze remained on hers, questioning, a bit confused. She tore open the foil packet as she walked on her knees across the bed to him.


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"You are one amazing looking man," she told him, throwing a leg over his to straddle his thighs. They covered him together, though she took a bit longer because she had to feel, to explore as she stretched the latex over his thick, rock hard length. His breathing was labored by the time she finished and he was gritting his teeth so hard she could hear it. It made her laugh, and he fell back onto the mattress, pulling her down on top of him, giving her butt cheek a brisk pat that surprised a gasp out of her. His thinly veiled threat from hours before echoed through her mind. Don't make me bend you over my knee and spank the story out of you. Oh baby, if that was a small taste of what it would feel like to have him carry out that threat…. The words "please" and "more" were on the tip of her tongue once again, but she lost them when he gripped her hips and pulled her down onto his cock. Tina winced at the thin layer of pain that burned through her pussy as he eased his dick inside her. He stopped halfway home, an expression that was part question and part fear crossing his face. "Am I hurting you? Jesus, Tina, don't let me hurt you." "You aren't hurting me," she told him, touched by his concern. So touched she actually had to close her eyes and will back the tears. This was the Ryan Magee from her dreams. The man whom she could trust to walk through the door to her heart should she dare to let it open. She never let herself think beyond her dreams that this man could really exist. Yet, here he was lying beneath her, his cock buried in her, afraid of causing her pain. "You're so tight," he said hoarsely. "It's been a while since I've, umm…." Tina let her words trail off even as her face heated. She started to lower herself farther onto his dick, to push him deeper inside her, but his grip on her hips stopped her. "How long, Tina?" he asked, his gaze searching. "A few years." Ryan's eyes widened and he lifted his head and shoulders slightly off the bed. "A few years?" Tina had to look away. It was stupid to feel so embarrassed. She knew it was stupid but knowing didn't change anything. "Three," she whispered. "Three years." She dared to glance down at him, and saw the truth in his astonished gaze. Yeah, it was pretty hard for her to live up to that slut image he'd had of her if she only had sex every three years.

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"Wow! Geezus baby, I—" Tina pushed his shoulders back down to the bed and drove his dick all the way inside her. A sound tore from her throat, a moan of pleasure laced with a string of pain as his cock stretched her, filled her, consumed her. She spread her knees wider, taking him deeper still, feeling him reach the edge of her womb. She paused there, joined with him as deeply and completely as two people could and met his gaze. "No more, okay?" she said softly and silently cursed when her voice wobbled. He knew what she meant. No more past. No more comparisons. He swallowed visibly, nodded and circled her waist with his arms, pulled her down for a kiss that was so soft, so sweet, so surprisingly full of emotions they were both too afraid to name. Still, he dared to whisper, "The past is the past. Let's start building the future now." The future? Did he mean? But Tina lost all thought of asking what he meant when he rolled her onto her back and began to move on top of her, thrusting in her. He took it slow, his dick gliding out of her pussy, pausing for an achingly long heartbeat before easing back inside her. It was sweet, sensual, mind-blowing, and way too dammed gentle. "Ryan, please," Tina pleaded. The heavy thickness of his cock as it worked its way bit by bit inside her and slithered back out, stole her breath. "That's close," he said and his eyes gleamed with an animal control that was sharp and arousing. "Try again, sweetheart." He grinned. The son of a bitch actually grinned down at her as he continued that slow, labored pace that had to be driving him as out of his mind as it was her. Still, if he felt the need to quicken his pace, he fought it like a pro. Damn him! He put all his upper body weight on one arm, reached between their bodies with the other, and found her clit with his fingers. "Oh yeah," Tina moaned, her head lolling uncontrollably from side to side as sparks of heated pleasure rained through her. "Nope. That's not it either." His cock slid inside, and she felt it throbbing, knew it was costing him dearly to play this little game. He laid on top of her, his cock still inching in and out of her in a pace slower than Christmas, his fingers drawing pressured circles around her clit. "Do you


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feel me, Tina? You've waited years for a man, for this. Tell me you've waited years for me." "I have. God, Ryan, I have." It wasn't a lie. She had waited years for exactly this, for him and no one else. "Is this how you want it, sugar? Or do you want more?" "More," she said on a gasp. "Please, more." It wasn't until his lips unfolded in a full blown, satisfied grin that she realized what she said. Exactly the words he wanted to hear. He'd made her beg just as she had him. Oh well, turn about was fair play, she supposed. As long as she got what she wanted now. Get what she wanted, indeed. Ryan thrust inside her in a rapid, almost violent stroke that had her hips coming off the bed to meet his. Her back arched and her neck bent as her head dug into the mattress. "Mother of God," he groaned, the words sounding as though they were ripped from his throat. "You're so tight, so wet, so hot." Rapture rocketed through her as he pounded his cock inside her, as the pressure in her womb built, as the orgasm approached. The power of his thrusts stole all ability to think. She could only feel as explosion after explosion detonated, filling her with a wall of flames that burned her from the inside out. When she came, it was yet another explosion, this one of lights and quiet screams as her body quivered and jerked from the force of her release. She heard Ryan's low grunt seconds later as he achieved his own climax then he fell boneless and panting on top of her. **** A prickle of awareness made the hairs on the back of Ryan's neck stand on end and he froze. Years of training had taught him to become nearly invisible, to become one with his surroundings. He could lay here for hours, barely breathing, not moving a muscle, just listening. To what? He wasn't sure. "Is something wrong?" Tina lay in the crook of his arm, her face tilted upward to peer at him. Ryan shook his head, looked down at her. "I thought I heard something. That's all." He tried to sound dismissive but, the truth was, he had heard

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something. He simply didn't know what. Whatever it had been though was enough to put every cell in his body on full-scale alert. "You checked on Timmy, right? He's still asleep." Her hand was on his chest, one leg draped over his, her soft, naked curves forming to his side. "He's fine," Ryan told her and kissed her forehead, a quick brush of his lips over smooth, salty sweet flesh. If felt so natural, lying with her this way, cuddling in the dimness of candlelight after a bout of marathon sex that left them both too exhausted to move. Sex that had been way more than just sex. His gut twisted with that knowledge and he wondered fleetingly if it were the oddity, the fate-sealing emotions swelling in his chest that were making him so uneasy, so vigilant. He'd been here before, in this place where instincts nagged and nerves were set on super tense. In the past, it happened on an op, at a time when danger was high and stealth a must. "He's as safe as a bug in a rug," Ryan assured her, the words doubling as a silent vow to himself. Whatever was out there, whatever was coming, whatever he sensed would not touch Tina or her son. And wasn't that the promise of a doomed man? Tina lifted her head to look at him, amusement dancing over her face. "A bug in a rug?" She raised one eyebrow. Ryan shrugged and his cheeks heated. He hadn't meant to say that. Christ, when was the last time he'd blushed? "It's something my grandmother used to say to me when she tucked me in at night." "What happened to your father? Why didn't you stay with him after your mother died? Didn't you ever see him when you were growing up?" Her questions were so unexpected that Ryan simply blinked at her, giving his mind time to adjust to her swift subject change. Man, he didn't want to talk about this now. What was it with this woman digging up old and painful memories he did his damnedest to bury so long ago? I want to know you. The words, first spoken by Tina, words he later repeated himself, echoed in his mind. He'd never done this before, laid in the dark engaging in pillow talk with a woman. He'd never wanted to. Sure, a few women over the years had tried, but that was as far as he'd let them go. Soon, he'd started making sure the women he chose to bed were only interested in the sex. He didn't want a woman prodding in his head, meddling around in his past. Until today. Until Tina Walker. Yep, no doubt


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about it, the instant he started talking to this woman—no, the instant he let himself touch her—he'd sealed his fate with superglue. "My father was a thief, an alcoholic and a…." He broke off because, God, the rest was a truth he'd never told anyone aside from Korbin Ziegler. Was he really going to add Tina to that very short list of people who knew? Bile rose in his throat at the thought. I want to know you. Her heartfelt words repeated themselves like a mantra in his head, and he gazed at her, let himself become momentarily lost in her beautiful brown eyes. Yes. He was going to do it. He was going to tell her. Ryan took a deep breath and actually managed to say the words without barfing on her. "He was a pedophile. He used to hang out around junior high and high schools watching girls, taking pictures of them. He got caught with an apartment full of nude photos of girls ranging from twelve to seventeen. I didn't go to live with my father after mom died because he was finally behind bars by then. There wasn't much room in his single prisoner cell for his seventeen year old son, you know." Not that any of it would have truly made a difference. The one time Ryan had gone to see his father, the older Magee hadn't even recognized him. "My God, Ryan," Tina gasped in shocked horror. She hugged him, laying her head on his shoulder as the hand she still had on his chest caressed him, her arm stretching across him to hold him tightly. "I always thought it was so strange," Ryan confessed. "Mom told me he had been the one who wanted to have a kid. Yet, after we left him, I never saw him again. I guess I should be thankful I didn't turn out to be a girl. You know, given the way he turned out. Who knows what would have happened then. I've always been grateful I was an only child at least," he added on a small burst of cynical laughter. Are you an only child? It was one of the first questions she'd asked him today and he'd finally answered it for her though in a way she likely never expected. Tina lifted her head to gaze down at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. Ryan touched her, her cheek, her lips, the fingers of his other hand dancing along the back of her bare shoulders. "Don't cry for me, sugar."

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"You've been through so much, and none of it, none of it was your fault. I just…." She sniffed and shook her head. "How can people do things like that when they are responsible for someone else, when they have a child they brought into the world, a life they are supposed to care and provide for?" "Sadly, people do it everyday. I had enough of my grandparents' influence to show me there was a different way to live, to show me even long after their deaths that I didn't have to turn out like either of my parents. Some kids get lucky like I did, but the really lucky kids are the ones with at least one parent who really loves them. Timmy is one of the really lucky ones because he has you. You didn't walk away from him like his father. That is what Shane did, right? He walked out on you both?" Tina nodded. "And there really isn't much more to the story than that. He left, supposedly to go to work one morning, and never came back. I filed for divorce the following year on the grounds of abandonment, and that was that." She shrugged. "DHS has been looking for him ever since, you know, trying to get child support for Timmy, but they can't find him." She fell silent, and Ryan did too. He didn't want to push her about Shane Walker. If there was nothing more to tell, then so be it. It didn't matter much to Ryan because what did matter was Tina was in his arms right now. The wind whistled outside as the rain continued its relentless beat against the side of the house and on the roof. Ryan wasn't sure of the time anymore. He guessed it had to be approaching midnight or later. He didn't have a clue what was happening with the storm, but he guessed they should be getting hit by the home stretch by now. And what would happen when the storm ended? How would this thing between him and Tina appear in the light of a new, storm-free day? They were two questions he couldn't answer and didn't care to ponder right now. He simply wanted to lie here and listen to the storm outside, a sound that was oddly soothing despite knowing the destruction it was likely causing in the city. He wanted to listen to the faint sound of Timmy's snores drifting up the hallway, to Tina's soft breathing as she approached the edge of the dream universe. "You're good at that, aren't you?"


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Okay, so maybe she wasn't as close to sleep as he thought. She sounded awake, blissfully content, as if she would be comfortable to stay this way in his arms for the rest of the night, to stay this way forever. Whoa there! Forever. Was he kidding? Did he really want to spend forever with this woman? He'd been having some crazy thoughts all afternoon and some even crazier ideas but forever…. Could he really make that idea compute? Let's start building the future now. He said that to her, his cock buried inside her sweet heat. A heat that had been growing and waiting for three years. Three freaking years! And those words hadn't been pleasure-induced babble either. He had meant them, so apparently he did want to spend forever with this woman. Now, how did he express that to her? Ryan let himself think about that. He could say something simple like, "Hey, you know when I said let's start building the future now? Well, that wasn't just bullshit. So how about it?" Yeah, that would be one way to go. He could even make it a bit more complicated and bring Timmy into it. Maybe say, "Timmy's really a lucky kid to have such a great Mom like you, but don't you think he would be even luckier if I were to stick around for a while? Maybe, say, forever?" Not bad, he decided but, hell, if he were going that far, why not complicate the shit out of everything and tell her he loved her, ask her to marry him? Jesus God, that thought should have made him wretch. At the very least, he should have been out of this bed so fast all she would see was his rapidly retreating shadow in the flickering candlelight. Instead, he lay there, tearing his mind from his wildly scattering thoughts of the future, of love and marriage, of, heaven help him, a stepson, and forced himself to focus. You're good at that, aren't you? That was the question she'd asked. He looked down at her and waggled his eyebrows. "I've already told you I'm good at a lot of things, sugar. I even showed you a few but, if you'll give me about another ten or fifteen minutes, I bet I'll be ready to show you a few more." Tina rolled her eyes but she grinned all the same. "Rhonda—she's a good friend and coworker at the restaurant—brought this unofficial study to work the other day. It broke down several different acts of sex and how

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many calories a man burns executing each one. According to this study, a man burns more calories attempting to put on a condom without an erection. It was some insane number like over three thousand as opposed to six. The six being with an erection, of course." "Of course," Ryan repeated, biting the inside of his cheek. Sometimes this woman really cracked him up. "Not that I'm saying you need to burn more calories," she quickly added, her hand grazing down his abs, his stomach. "I doubt you have an ounce of fat on you but if the need ever arises…" "I'll do more PT," he said on a laugh. Putting on a condom when he didn't have an erection was a moot point anytime Tina was around. Simply watching her kept him in a perpetual state of a partial stiffy. "PT?" Her forehead wrinkled in question. "Personal training," he explained. "Sit ups, swimming, running…." "SEAL speak for exercise," Tina nodded. "Why did you quit? I mean, Dean said you left the Navy because of an injury you sustained to your knee and I know you used to walk with a limp, but you don't anymore. I've been watching you today and, well, your knee seems to be okay now." "I think it is. Good thing too because it looks as though I'm being demoted in the department. Dean is giving my engineer spot to the new guy." Tina sat up, surprise etched in her expression. "What new guy, and what do you mean you're being demoted?" Ryan found himself chuckling at the outrage in her tone. "I don't know the guy's name. Some Ivy League kid from Princeton or Harvard or some shit. And it really isn't a demotion. I mean, it is because for some crack pot reason an Engineer is considered higher rank than a firefighter, but it's the firefighter who does the work, who sees the action. That's what I want, Tina, to be back in the action." She nodded but then she shook her head. "I still don't understand. If action is what you want, then why leave the Navy? You had to know your knee would heal in time and I can't believe the SEALs would kick out one of their best…. What were you? A lieutenant, officer, commander?" "Chief Petty Officer, and how do you know I was one of their best?" "Common sense," she said simply. "You're the type of man who wouldn't settle for being anything less than the best. Call it a hunch, an


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impression, woman's intuition, whatever you want, one only has to look at you to know you don't settle well." "Well, whatever you want to call it, you're right," he agreed, reaching to pull her back down to him. He didn't like her being so far away. Even sitting right beside him, he felt empty, lonely without her in his arms. Oh yeah, he had it bad. "Which is why I left the Navy. Being a SEAL is a young man's game." "And you're all of what, thirty-two?" Tina scoffed. "That made you thirty when you left." Ryan nodded. "With only about ten years to go if I could manage to make it through without serious injury. The knee was a serious injury. I would have been better off getting shot in the side or even the shoulder. A bummed shoulder is something you can deal with. It fucks up, you use the other arm. But a knee…." He shook his head. "I spent several months in recovery and rehab before I returned to active duty, but even then the team went wheels up. That's slang for going on an op. It was an overseas mission. I can't say where but we ended up in the middle of this, forest. Our CO had received word that this tango—terrorist—the government had been after for a while was holed up in one of those caves. We were ordered to go in undetected, capture the tango and extract in a matter of a few short hours. It was a cake assignment, especially for our team, and we pulled it off without incident. Except, well, it took us way longer than it should have because my knee fucked up on me. A SEAL team is only as fast as its slowest member, and that night the slowest member was me. It was the second time I held up the team, the night I got hurt being the first, but I swore it would be the last. I could have stayed. My CO wanted me to stay. But, I don't know, I wanted to go out on my own, you know? I wanted it to be my choice." "Why firefighting?" She asked, but then she gasped. She rolled in his arm until she could rest her chin on his chest, her eyes gleaming. "Wait, I know. You thought having a ladder at your disposal would make your ongoing Peeping Tom gig easier." "Ha ha. You're a real laugh riot." He kissed her forehead and couldn't keep himself from letting out a soft chuckle. Then he shrugged. "I don't know exactly. Why not firefighting? I joined the Navy because it was my only ticket to college, but I joined the SEALs because I wanted to make a difference. And yeah, okay, because I like to live on the edge too.

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Excitement, adventure, you know? I'm not a SEAL anymore but as a firefighter I can still do all of that, have all of that. It's just at a slower and often less dangerous pace than before. I'm still part of a team but we work differently. We depend on each other and stick together but the timing is different, less stressed. Hell, I don't really know how to explain it." "What's that saying, once a SEAL always a SEAL?" Tina smiled at him with a sensuality that made his world tilt and his dick move from partial stiffy to full-blown hard-on in an instant. "It makes me feel safe," she said and pushed herself to her elbows. "Having my very own solider to protect me." She moved over him, sliding her body across his until her legs straddled his waist, his cock a mere heartbeat from entering her sweet heat. Ryan laced his fingers in the hairs at the back of her neck and pulled her face to his. "I am yours, Tina," he told her, whispering against the softness of her lips. It was as close as he could come to saying what he wanted to tell her right now, but it was close enough. "If you want me, baby, for as long as you want me, I'm yours."


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Chapter 12 Panic rose like bile in her throat. Tina swallowed, forced herself to take a deep breath and stay calm as her gaze slowly scanned the dimly lit playroom. It was as she'd last seen it. Portable game systems and their accompanying games lay strewn over the awful red carpet. The plates from last night's PB and J fest were stacked on the floor near the legs of a wobbly card table. The futon bed, its covers rumpled, its cushion well worn, sat along the wall on the far side of the room. The only thing different was Timmy. Rather the only thing missing was Timmy. Tina moved to the futon, actually jostled the heap of covers despite their lack of a human shape beneath. She even looked under the bed, knowing how absurd it was to do so. This whole thing was silly. She was being silly. The panic twisting her insides was a simple knee-jerk reaction common to any mother who discovered her child wasn't where he should be. Get a grip, Mom. She heard Timmy's voice so clearly in her head that it made her turn to see if he was really behind her. He wasn't. Still, she could almost hear him say, "I had to go to the bathroom. Geeze!" Except, she knew she wouldn't find him there either because she'd just come from there herself. The hallway was still dim, but thin strips of yellowish light had begun to filter through the darkness from the non-boarded sections of the windows in the adjoining rooms. It wasn't much light, but it was enough to toss a shadow, enough to enable one to see, enough that she knew there was no way she and Timmy could have missed each other in the hall. "Timmy." She moved slowly down the hall, speaking his name in a voice barely above a whisper. Still, the name seemed to blare through the thick silence of the house like a bullhorn. The storm was over, the hurricane past, leaving behind an eerie calm that settled thick and heavy in the air.

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"Timmy, where are you, sweetheart?" She paused at the doorway to Ryan's bedroom but it too looked exactly as it had when she'd rolled out of the bed mere minutes earlier. Ryan lay on his back, the sheet covering his lower body, one arm above his head, the other curved as it had been when she lay beside him, as if she were still there with him. She almost felt as if she were. She could all but feel the warmth of that arm around her as it had been while they'd slept through the night. A slim ray of the rising sunshine peeked through the opening at the window, bathing his chest in the new morning glow. It made him look godly, she mused. A godly Tarzan, she thought as she remembered the fantasies she used to have of this man. You Tarzan, me Jane. She'd even turned that around on him a couple of times last night. Her smile faded as words he said to her echoed through her memory. I'm yours, Tina. If you want me, baby, for as long as you want me, I'm yours. He'd meant them. She knew he had, she'd felt the truth behind those words in the way he kissed her, held her, made love to her. She'd felt him give himself to her and she'd taken him, into her heart, her soul, her life. But even those heartfelt, poetic words weren't the same as a declaration of love, she reminded herself. He hadn't come right out and said the words I and love and you. Until he did, she couldn't really trust he was hers, couldn't really trust him. Could she? The man was a playboy of the most adventurous kind. What made her think she could actually tame a man like that, make him fall for her, make him accept a ready-made family in a single night? Yeah, no doubt she'd woke up her silliness gene in prominent control of her brain this morning. That fact was proven once more when she heard a noise coming from the kitchen down the hall. It was a faint rustle of sound as though someone were attempting to move about quietly and failing. It was the kind of sound Timmy often made when he awoke before her and decided to fix his own breakfast, not wanting to wake her up. Relief washed through her in a calming wave that nearly made her laugh out loud. Silly didn't even begin to describe her this morning. Shaking her head, she moved to the end of the hall. She cleared her throat as she stepped through the kitchen doorway, not wanting to scare Timmy out of his underwear by sneaking up on him, but not wanting to wake Ryan by being too loud.


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"Timmy. Son, you scared—" She broke off as she stepped, into the kitchen, squinting when her eyes met with the bright sunlight of the early morning. Why was it so bright in here with the widows boarded? A cursory scan showed her that, aside from the daylight, this room too was as they left it last night complete with the jar of peanut butter on the counter top beside the half eaten loaf of bread. The black cat currently attempting to feast on that loaf, however, was a new addition and not the new addition she'd expected to find. Nor was the open door on the other side of the room leading outside. Light mystery solved, she decided and stepped farther into the kitchen. As was Timmy's whereabouts and that part had her temper sparking. Tina rarely got angry with her son. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd raised her voice to him, but going outside alone after the hurricane that hit last night was testing her patience just a little too much. "Timothy Shane Walker," she said, louder now as she stomped to the open door. "Young man, you are in so much trouble." **** Ryan startled awake, squinting for only a second against the light streaming through the narrow opening at the window. As both an experienced operator and a firefighter, he was used to going from a deep sleep to full-scale alert in less than a heartbeat. As such, he was also used to the adrenaline rush that accompanied the sudden awakening, used to the instant urge to go that controlled his limbs and had him out of bed and pulling on his pants before he even knew where he was headed. He stopped, his gaze scanning the empty bedroom, his ears tuned in for any sound, every muscle in his body tense and ready for…. What? He couldn't say, though he knew with a bone chilling certainty something was wrong. Way wrong. "Timmy." The name split through the silence on a distant cry. Ryan bolted to the window and swore when he could see little more than an inch or two on either side thanks to the plywood still in place. He spun on his heel, hurried out of the bedroom but barely made it to the end of the hall before Tina burst through the kitchen doorway. Her eyes were huge, her whole body shaking, her breath ragged.

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"Timmy. I can't find Timmy." She labored to get the words out, her voice catching, her eyes filling with tears. "Whoa! Tina, baby, calm down." Ryan pulled her into his arms, and geeze, she was cold and damp. No wonder she was shivering. He tried to envelope her in his arms, to warm her with his own body heat, but she slapped at his chest and tried to pull away. "No I won't calm down." She was practically yelling now. "Didn't you hear me? I. Can't. Find. Timmy." She said each word as though it should have been followed by an exclamation of horror. "He isn't in the playroom?" Ryan asked, trying to make sense of her obvious panic. "No he isn't in the playroom," she snapped. "Do you think I would be trampling outside in the rain, screaming his name at the top of my lungs if he were?" "It's still raining out there?" On a stupidity scale of one to ten, the question rated a four million, and Ryan winced, but it was too late to take it back. Tina's clothes were wet, the hurricane had barely passed and, if he looked over Tina's head at the open door in the kitchen, he could see a light mist falling outside. How much more of an answer did he need? As one of his favorite comedians would say, "Here's your sign." But, in his own defense, he'd awaken to a stream of bright sunshine and silence. No pounding rain on the roof. No deafening cracks of thunder. He'd thought the storm was over. And it no doubt was. The worst of it anyway. But unpredictable scattered showers were often common for hours or even days in the wake of a hurricane. Tina chose to ignore his stupid question, saying instead, "I've looked everywhere. I checked all the rooms in the house. I checked the yard, the car. God, Ryan. Where is he?" "You haven't seen him at all this morning?" Where was he, indeed? Either Tina's panic was contagious or Ryan was starting to develop a case of it all his own. It was a foreign feeling to him, this sense of unnerve that settled low in his gut. He didn't scare easily, always kept a calm, cool head in the most terrifying of situations. He channeled that energy now, knowing it was his self-will and reasonable resolve they needed. Tina shook her head, damp tendrils of hair flying around her face. "I got up to go to the bathroom and decided to check on him. I went to the


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playroom first but he wasn't there. I was headed back down the hall when I heard a noise in the kitchen. I thought it was him, but it was a cat, and the door was open and—" "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, baby. The kitchen door was open?" The upset in his gut churned, soured and he forced himself to think past the lump of something that felt oddly like fear rising in his throat. He'd secured the kitchen door himself, even checked to be sure it was locked when they made the sandwiches last night. Still, he couldn't discount the possibility that the wind became strong enough to blow the door open. And he'd slept through it all. That was the biggest mystery. He—the king of the light sleepers, trained to sleep with one eye open and an ear to the ground—had been lost in la-la land while Tina had been turning his house and yard upside down in a panic looking for her son. "I thought he'd gone outside, but he isn't out there. He wouldn't run off like this, Ryan. Something is wrong. Where is he?" No, Ryan thought as his hands skimmed idly up and down Tina's back providing comfort he himself didn't feel. Timmy wasn't the type to run off. Yes, something was definitely wrong and, God help them, Ryan had a frightening idea of where the boy could be. But no, he couldn't be right. Please don't let him be right. He let go of Tina. "Where are you going?" She scrambled after him. "I told you, he isn't in the playroom." "I know that," Ryan shot back over his shoulder. "But maybe we can retrace his steps, figure out from there where he went. Maybe he left us some sort of clue." Maybe there's at least something in there that will tell me he's still here somewhere and not— He abruptly cut off the thought, unwilling to let it fester even in his mind much less speak it aloud. "What? You think he left a freaking pebbled path or something? He isn't fucking Hansel, Ryan." Ryan would have laughed at that if this hadn't been so serious. God, he wished he could laugh because he didn't want to acknowledge just how serious this could be. A thought occurred to him, and he stopped just inside the doorway of the playroom. The very empty playroom, he immediately noted. What if he woke up and went looking for his Mom only to find her in Ryan's bed?

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Ryan tried to guess how Timmy would react to such a discovery. Would he be angry, hurt? Would he run away? Christ, attempting to second guess a child's emotions when it came to something like that was next to impossible. "See. I told you he isn't in here." Tina moved past him, stopping to turn in a circle in the center of the room. She pointedly looked at the floor. "No pebbled path either, Sherlock. No notes with a neon arrow pointing at it that says, 'Big fucking clue found here'. It's like he's vanished." Tears filled her eyes again, and Ryan took a step toward her. "Timmy wouldn't do something like this. Ryan, he wouldn't—" "What is that?" Ryan spoke over her, pointing at a scrap of paper on the floor at her feet. Tina glanced down and shrugged as she bent to pick it up. "It's a password to one of those dammed games he was playing." She tossed the paper back to the floor, but it drifted to Ryan's feet before it landed face up, the conglomeration of numbers and letters staring up at him. Ryan's blood froze in his veins. He heard himself make some unintelligible sound that must have scared Tina as much as it did him because she was at his side in a flash. "What? What is it?" Ryan didn't answer as he knelt to pick up the paper, study it. Not some kind of password but coordinates. The letters and number scrawled on the paper gave the location to some kind of vessel several miles off shore. "Ryan?" Tina's voice shook with fear. "What the fuck is it?" Ryan looked at her and knew she could see his own worry and fear in his eyes. "I know where he is," he told her, his tone soft but already hardening with an edge he hadn't heard in his own voice in close to two years. "And I know who's got him." **** "Excuse me, Lieutenant. Do you have a minute?" Tripp stopped and slowly turned to find Bailey jogging toward him. A fist tightened around his heart and made his chest ache. She'd hurt him, first with her decision to transfer and then with her admission that she'd begun to see a shrink. Both of which she'd neither discussed with him or told him about until all was set in motion.


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He'd let his temper get the best of him last night, stormed out of the captain's office he'd temporarily appropriated for his own use without so much as a cursory glance over his shoulder. Yeah, he'd been pissed, but shit, how was a man expected to react when he finally found out the woman he'd wanted more than his next breath wanted him too? As long as they aren't seen together, as long as no one referred to her as his woman, as long as they didn't work together. "What is it, Bailey?" He crossed his arms over his chest, hardened both his face and his heart as she reached him. She winced, glanced at the other firefighters moving around them. Everyone was preparing to roll out now that the hurricane had passed and he knew what she was thinking. Heaven forbid anyone hear him call her by her first name. They were supposed to keep it on a purely professional level. She'd called him Lieutenant. He should have answered by calling her Lamont. First names were too personal, especially between male and female subordinates. Bailey waited until she was right in front of him, stopping at a comfortable distance, a safe distance, a professional distance. She lowered her voice so only he could hear. "We need to talk." Tripp stared at her. Oh, now she wanted to talk. Didn't it figure? A multitude of retorts sprang to the tip of his tongue, all of them fueled by the temper that hadn't quite calmed from last night, and he bit them back. They'd had all night while waiting for the hurricane to blow over, but did she try to talk to him then? No. Although, maybe the fact that he'd had steam coming out of his ears after walking out of the office had served as a deterrent for any overnight conversation. But what about before that? What about all of the dinners they shared, the walks on the beach, the nights in front of the television or even the days they spent at her kitchen table putting together freaking puzzles? Jesus save him! They spent countless hours together over the past few months and, yeah, they talked or at least he though they had. He thought they even poured their souls out to one another a time or two. Not about their relationship. No. They always carefully avoided that subject, but everything else seemed fair game. Everything else, it appeared, except for the things that were most important. Shit! "We don't have time for this right now," he told her, and she grimaced, probably from the coldness in his voice. He wondered inanely if he'd ever

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spoken to her this way. No. Of course he hadn't because he'd never been angry with her before, never thought he could ever be mad at her. He supposed that showed with he knew. Bailey nodded slowly, her gaze searching, never leaving his face. "So you're just going to avoid me now? Are you really that angry with me?" "I'm not avoiding you," he said and took a deep, patient breath. Was he avoiding her? He couldn't be. He'd made himself easily found, easily approachable even after walking out on her. Okay, easily approachable if she wanted to face his hostility. But geezus, she had to know she would have to deal with that at some point if she expected them to get through any of this. "You wanted to talk, you should have done that last night when we were all sitting around twiddling our thumbs." "I tried, but you—" "Free time is over, Lamont." He spoke over her, using both her last name and the voice he thought of as his lieutenant voice because it held a harder, more authoritative edge than his normal speaking tone. It put them back on the level of lieutenant and firefighter, exactly where she wanted them. "We have a job to do. That's what is most important to you, right? The job? Well, get ready Lamont, because from the looks of things out here, we're in for a long day." He watched as she scanned the ground around the station house, the street that passed in front. He knew she saw what he saw. Downed power lines, debris, fallen trees, shingles from roofs belonging to houses probably several miles away. There was a house on the corner a block down and a family was in the yard with garbage bags already starting to clean up after the storm. This was just one street in a city of hundreds. One street far less populated than most but a street that sustained enough damage to make him dread the coming sight of the rest of the city. "Engine 1 will be rolling out in five minutes," he told Bailey as he stepped away, started moving toward said engine. "Graham is doubling as driver since Magee isn't here. Jasper will be teaming in as our fourth. He's HAZMAT, but he's got first aide instruction too. It's not likely we'll need the hazardous materials truck but the medical knowledge may come in handy. I'm hoping we won't need it too much, but…."


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Bailey caught his arm and scrambled to stand in front of him. "You're important to me, too, Tripp," she said and, geezus, her eyes shimmered as they filled with tears. She ruthlessly blinked them away. "I thought I made that clear last night." "Yeah, I'm just not important enough," Tripp countered, stealing himself against the emotional pain as he pulled his arm from her grasp. "And you want to watch what you say and how loud you say it," he reminded her coldly. "We wouldn't want anyone in the department to get the impression there's something between us, would we?" The look on her face as he walked away this time broke his heart. Or, it would have at least if she hadn't shattered it to bits last night. **** "Are you getting this?" The question came over the blur of clipped voices streaming through an emergency hand-held scanner as the door to Michael's office flew open and Adrien Bingham poked his spiky blond head inside. Like Michael, Adrien tended to be obsessive when it came to the agency and the cases to which he was assigned. It was why, like Michael, Adrien rode out Hurricane Emilio on the sofa in his own first floor office across the hall in the DEA HQ. Unlike Michael, Adrien hadn't likely spent most of the night fixated over how to attain an unattainable woman, though. Because the slightly shorter, slightly younger, blond haired, green eyed, too pretty to be an agent, preferred men. Yes, Adrien Bingham was happily, bluntly, out of the closet gay. Though some agents in the office had a problem with Adrien's sexual orientation, Michael wasn't one of them. In fact, at times like this, after a night like that which he just spent obsessing over a married woman, swinging the other way, so to speak, didn't sound like such a bad idea. Maybe then he would be able to get the incredibly sexy, hugely talented, sweet, humorous and, dammit all to hell, very married Rhonda Ramsey out of his head. Christ, ten minutes in the grocery store aisle and he was out of his mind crazy about the woman and her adorable son!

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"I caught enough to know we've got possible trouble near the docks," Michael answered as he slid his arms into his shoulder holster. He pulled his M-16 from the desk drawer, checked the clip, and holstered the weapon. He missed half of the SOS that came through the emergency scanner because the volume on his own hand-held had been turned down. He'd done that just before sunrise when his non-productive mania overshadowed his ongoing professional obsession to the point that the hours of mind numbing chatter became more irritating than informative. Police, fire department, and EMTs kept the radio frequency hopping through the night with constant updates of the hurricane's progress, damage reports that trickled in maddening slowly, and preparation details to begin as soon as the storm passed. After many insomniac hours of remembering and fantasizing about Rhonda, he'd needed a power nap. Not that he got one. No. His mind kept reliving those few short minutes in the grocery aisle. More, his active imagination insisted on casting him in the role of the male character in her latest release he'd managed to download just before the storm knocked out all forms of communication. But thanks to the Gods of technology and the creator of laptops, the power to his computer lasted long into the night. It was a good thing he'd been alone in his office. Especially when the reading and mental role-playing became too much and he had to relieve himself or risk dick and ball explosion. Christ, if anyone ever found out about that he would never live it down. "Sounds to me like your boy, the SEAL, what's his name?" Adrien asked, moving farther into the office. He was dressed in his field gear: black cargo pants, black shirt, black jacket, black boots. He looked like a gay Goth wannabe, and Michael kept expecting him to break into the latest hit by Marilyn Manson or Cradle of Filth. "Ryan Magee." Michael supplied the name, pulling his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Along with obsessing, multitasking was another of his attributes and one he put to use quite often when the first made it impossible to concentrate on one event. As he listened to Adrien and finished dressing, his mind wandered, returning to a question he'd thought about in the night. If he got that turned on by reading one of her books, how did writing them affect her? How did she handle it when her characters heated her to near boiling point?


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Of course, the answer came just as easily now as it did in the night. She goes to bed with her husband you fool. And with that all too depressing and likely true thought, he forced his mind back to the mission at hand. "Ryan Magee. That's the one," Adrien made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Sounds like he's got himself one hell of a mess, babe. Did you know he has a little boy?" Michael stopped, a clear picture of Lucas Ramsey and his sweet blue eyes flashing through his mind. He shook his head at both Adrien's question and to dislodge the memory. "He doesn't. I don't know who the boy belongs to." "Well, whoever it is, he means something to Magee. Did you hear the man's voice in that transmission? Even through the radio crackles, I could hear how distraught he was." "Yeah, I heard it." Michael strode past Adrien and out into the hallway. He moved briskly toward the lobby, knowing the other man would follow. "The man's a former SEAL. He's not the type to wait for any sort of backup. If he knows where they took the boy, he'll go after him by himself." "You think he's right? That it's Phay's men that nabbed the boy." "I know he's right." God help them all, Michael thought as he pushed open the front door of the HQ building. The parking lot was deserted save for the classic Crown Victoria he drove—presently covered by tree branches and other debris—and the fallen tree at the edge of the lot that looked as though it had taken out the phone and power lines with it. A shorter tree had fallen across the lot entrance but he could see space to maneuver around it and pull onto the street. He turned back to Adrien who was across the lobby getting ready to climb…onto a motorcycle. "I received a report just before the storm hit. A heads up that Phay's men had been spotted on a course for Florida but— because of the storm's original projected path—rerouted toward us. They've been after Magee since Phay came out of hiding, and an article that went out a few months ago penned Magee as being here, in Silver Springs. What are you doing?" Adrien glanced at him and shrugged. "I brought my bike in yesterday. Didn't want the storm to carry it away, you know? What? You think you're going to make it all the way to the docks in that monster of a car you drive? Look at that parking lot. That's just a small example of what the world out

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there looks like right now. We have no way of knowing exactly how bad the roads are or how many are blocked but I can guarantee you, we'll maneuver around them a lot better on my bike than that car." "I thought gay guys went for the more flashy cars. You know, Corvettes or Porsches or something equally sporty," Michael said and held open the door as Adrien pushed the bike outside. "Sweetie, you want to buy me a Porsche? I will be happy to drive it. But I do prefer my bike. What's the matter? Just because I'm not a buff, leather wearing, tattoo sporting, Alpha male I can't drive a motorcycle?" Michael laughed. "Forget I said anything." "Besides, there's something about the wind whipping through my hair," Adrien said with a wide grin. "And let's not forget the feeling of having a warm body pressed against my back." He covered his mouth, his eyes widening in genuine horror. "Yikes, I guess I picked the wrong time to make that comment considering… I didn't mean… You know that…" "I know you didn't mean anything suggestive by it, Bingham." Michael rolled his eyes and closed the building door, moved to the motorcycle now parked on the battered sidewalk. "What about Lara Hampton?" Adrien asked, unable to hide his obvious relief but letting the conversation go nevertheless. "Wasn't she in town before the storm hit?" "She was. I sent her packing when we got the news that Phay's men were coming this way." "What I want to know is how Phay's men managed to get ashore in the middle of a hurricane," Adrien said as he climbed onto the bike's seat, started the engine with a purr that even Michael, not one for motorcycles, had to agree sounded incredibly sweet. "They got by us," Michael answered loudly over the noise as he swung a leg over the back end of the seat, settled down behind Adrien. "I'm betting somehow they were already here when the storm hit." And while they'd been planning their abduction of a small boy, he'd been stretched on the sofa in his office, day dreaming about Rhonda Ramsey. Damn it all to hell.


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Chapter 13 "What do you mean, you know who has him?" Tina followed Ryan to the living room where he snatched a hand-held radio from an end table and spoke in rapid-fire code to someone on the other end. Next, he stopped at the closet in the hallway where he pulled goggles, a snorkel and other swimming apparatus from the bottom. Then he moved to the bedroom where he tossed articles of clothing from the laundry basket until he came up with a pair of BDUs—battle dress uniform pants—and a T-shirt. Apparently, the precise clothing was more important to him right now then whether or not said clothing was clean or dirty. For a man with a previously bummed knee, he could have given the Road Runner a challenge in a race. He moved with a rapid, easy grace, light on the balls of his feet, pure concentration and determination in his expression. But Tina saw more there in the hard lines of his cheeks and jaw, in the unwavering darkness that rose in his eyes as he read the scrap of paper they found in the playroom. She saw guilt, pain, fear. Tina could barely think herself, could barely speak around the ball of fear lodged in her own throat. Her eyes blurred and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she let them fall. She didn't have time to hassle with such emotions right now. Her son was missing. Someone took her precious boy, and this man knew who. "Where is he, Ryan?" she demanded, her fear and aggravation growing as he continued not to answer her, as he dressed in record time and began rustling through the bedroom closet. "Who were you talking to on the radio? Was that Dean?" She thought it sounded like Dean's voice, but she wasn't sure he could be of any help in finding Timmy. Ryan still didn't answer her. He pulled a metal box from the top shelf of the closet and stepped back, walked over to the dresser never once looking at her, his lips tight and grimly sealed. He put the box on the dresser,

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quickly spun the combination lock and pulled, dear God, a deadly looking handgun from inside. Tina had reached down deep for even an ounce of calm and patience, a modicum of sensibility that would help her to handle the fear, keep her from racing off half-cocked. Going ballistic would not help Timmy, especially not if he was in danger, which he so obviously was. She'd unknowingly awoke in a mother's nightmare. Her son had been kidnapped. The panic that had first filled her veins, mixed with the fear in a dangerous concoction that threatened to debilitate her if she let it. She hadn't let it. She wouldn't. Her son needed her. Still, at the sight of that gun, she found a strength she didn't know she possessed. She also found her temper. "Dammit! Ryan, talk to me. Where is my son? Who has him, and how do you know?" Despite the cursed tears that just wouldn't let up, her voice sounded demanding, angry, and flat out mean. It worked. Finally, finally, he looked at her. "It's me they want, Tina." His voice sounded odd, as though it belonged to someone else, and his eyes, Jesus God, were those tears in his eyes? "They t—took Timmy to get to me." He actually gulped before he managed to say the word "took" and Tina knew he sounded like some else because this was someone else. Even with the eyes luminous from tears, and yes, those were tears, this was not any Ryan Magee she'd ever met. This was the soldier, the warrior, the highly trained SEAL who was preparing for a mission in which he fully intended to kick ass and forget about names. He even looked the part, she realized, taking in the BDUs, the gun, the hard expression and even harder muscles. "You keep saying they. Who is they?" She had to know. Christ, her son was out there somewhere with strangers. Strangers who, even if it wasn't Timmy they truly wanted, could harm or even—even… She couldn't think what they could do to her boy. "Veng Kim Phay," Ryan answered her. The tears dried in an instant, and his eyes turned darker than she'd ever seen them, fierce, prepared for battle. "I doubt it's Phay himself. More like men who work for him. Phay is a Cambodian drug lord, Tina. We, SEAL Team Six and I, were sent in to capture him on one of my last ops with the SEALs." Tina wasn't sure how, but she knew. "That's the op when you were hurt." She made it more of a statement than a question but still he nodded.


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"Yeah, my injury was just one of the things that cemented that mission as a complete goat fuck. We failed. Phay was gone, his compound deserted. He went underground. Some reporter managed to get hold of the story and a grainy photo of a couple of my teammates and me. I don't know how. There wasn't a soul in sight that night except for the guys on the team and a senator's daughter we'd been sent in to rescue as a secondary mission." He took a deep breath and shook his head. While he talked, he went about checking the weapon. He pulled a knife from the box as well, unsheathed it and inspected the blade. Tina recognized it as a diver's knife, and she knew exactly what he planned to do, how he planned to get Timmy back. "Still," Ryan continued, "the photo got out. It made front page in most of the publications in the country and on several television news broadcasts as well. I think it even got a few seconds spot on CNN." "This drug lord. What did you call him? Phay something? He saw the picture of you." Tina stared at Ryan, tried to make sense of all he was telling her. Dear God, she felt as though she'd suddenly been thrust into a movie. This couldn't be real. Could it? All this talk of drug lords and the media, the military, those were all parts of the movies Timmy liked to watch. Not part of their lives. Timmy. The mere thought of her son threatened to start the waterworks again. Timmy was her life and, right now, all these other things had come into both of their worlds. "Yeah, he saw the picture," Ryan confirmed. "Phay had already declared revenge, I guess you could say, on the SEAL team that took him down. As the saying goes, he was definitely down but not out. So he waited, and when that picture surfaced he knew where to start, who to go after." "You." A deadly chill crawled beneath the surface of Tina's skin. "Me." Ryan nodded, took a step closer to her. "I knew he was after me, Tina. I—" He broke off, shook his head, and the pain, the anguish that filled his expression broke her heart. "My CO called yesterday. He told me Phay sent his men after me, but I thought… I didn't expect them to make a move until the hurricane was over." Tina stared at him, disbelief mixing with the confusion and horror in her gut. "You knew?" The phone call. She remembered now. He'd been on his cell phone when she'd walked into the living room.

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"I should have told you. God, Tina, I'm sorry, baby." He reached for her, touched her shoulder lightly with just the tips of his fingers before he let his hand fall to his side and looked away. "That's why you were staring out the windows so much," she realized. "You weren't brushing up on your Peeping Tom skills. You were watching for—" Them. She didn't have to finish the sentence. She saw the truth in his eyes when he met her gaze once more. "Yeah." He held her gaze for only a moment and, this time, he didn't just look away, he walked away. He walked passed her and through the bedroom door before she realized he moved. She chased after him. "Where are you going?" she asked even though she already knew. "To get your son back," he fired the answer over his shoulder, never breaking stride as he picked up the diving equipment he'd taken from the hall closet and headed for the front door. "Ryan, wait." Oh God, oh God, oh God. She wanted nothing more than to have Timmy back, safe and sound in her arms, but…. "You can't go after him alone. It's too dangerous." Yes, and she didn't dare dwell on exactly how dangerous the guys who had her son could be. "Getting yourself killed isn't going to save Timmy." He was out the front door and at his truck, tossing his gear in the back and opening the driver door before he stopped, turned to look at her. "I'm not going to get myself killed." At least not until I get Timmy back for you. He didn't say the words but they were there in his eyes, in the grim set to his jaw. "You're planning to trade yourself for Timmy." "It's me they want," he said again, his tone matter of fact. "I'm going with you." Tina started to move to the passenger side of his truck, but he caught her arm. "No, you're not. You're going to stay here and wait for someone to bring Timmy to you." "Like hell I am." She tried to jerk her arm away but Ryan's grip was too strong. Whether it was his steadfast determination not to allow her to go with him or the fear of what could be happening to her son right this very minute while they stood arguing, she couldn't say, but she lost it. Tina crumpled, dissolving into more tears than she knew was possible to cry. She


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would have collapsed too, she was sure, if Ryan hadn't been there to catch her, to hold her. "He's my son," she sobbed, her words muffled against Ryan's chest. "He's my world. He's all I've got." "I know. God baby, I know." He held her tightly, his wide, strong arms offering her comfort at a time when nothing else could comfort her. "You have to trust me. Look at me, Tina. Look at me. Look at me." He said it over and over, soft and yet ordering, until she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Trust me to save him for you. Trust me to get him back." "But I don't want to loose you either." She was balling, her voice childish and cracking, shrill and hardly understandable, but she could see in his eyes he had no trouble understanding. "Thank you for last night," he told her and brought a hand to her cheek, wiped at a stream of tears with the backs of his fingers. It didn't do any good. Her tears continued to flow. He leaned in, brushed his lips lightly over hers, and finally let her go. He was inside his truck and backing out of the drive before she could blink, and she realized he hadn't told her she wouldn't lose him. He merely thanked her and left. Left to trade his life for her son's. Tina dashed for her own car even as Ryan sped away, tires squealing down the deserted street. She'd left her keys in the ignition the day before, not bothering to deal with them in the storm. She twisted those keys now and slapped the steering wheel hard with the palm of her hand, cursing at the top of her lungs when the car didn't even make a sound of life. **** Rhonda Ramsey thought the hurricane passed in the night. She decided she'd been wrong when she woke to a whirlwind of confusion, energy, attitude, and anger. Apparently, Hurricane Emilio had merely taken up residence inside the middle class single story home on Madison Lane. The house next door—a gorgeous two-story log structure—was on fire. Fire trucks pulled to a stop in the street out front, lights swirling, siren blaring. Lucas bolted out the door to watch with wide, excited eyes. Rhonda's mother continued on her tirade, a fit that began part way through the night and, so far, had yet to stop. The power was out, the phones didn't work, and one of the trees in the back yard had fallen on the roof of the gazebo. Then there was Preston, adding to the current chaos with his usual

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charming approach, refusing, quiet adamantly and with many creatively nasty words, to stay at her mother's house a second longer. Rhonda stood in the den and thought seriously about yanking out her hair, strand by long, bleached blond strand. It would probably be less painful than, say, shoving one of her feet in Preston's mouth and the other in her mother's to shut them up. Yeah, if she were to do that, she would be better off using their feet. On second thought, Lucas probably had the best idea. Escape it all by watching the action unfold outside. For her, it would also have the added bonus of research. Maybe she could even check out the firefighter Tina had the hots for. What was his name? Oh yeah, Ryan Magee. A few moments watching a total TDH could do her some good. A picture of Mr. Exotic Eyes flashed through her memory at that thought. Yeah, he was definitely tall, dark, and handsome to the max. "Aren't you at all worried about our apartment, our things?" Preston demanded from his seat on the end of the sofa. His shirt rode up to expose his bellybutton and a large portion of the spare tire he carried above the waistband of his jeans. Disgusted, Rhonda turned her head and wondered, as she so often did, what had happened to the man she'd married? As for his unwavering determination to get home, yeah, she was probably being unnecessarily judgmental in that area too. She'd finally convinced him to come to her mother's to ride out the storm when getting out of town via the highways proved to be impossible. Now the storm was over and, like her, he wanted to check on their home, their belongings. Of course, it was the sofa, television, and remote control she suspected he was most concerned about. "Of course I'm worried," she said, her patience slipping. "But we don't know what the roads are like out there. We may not even be able to get to our apartment yet." Still, she could understand his need to try. They'd left nearly everything they owned when they evacuated knowing in the backs of their minds when they returned there may be nothing to return to but rubble. She turned back to him, ready to agree to try when Lucas burst through the front door. "Mommy, Timmy Walker has been kidnapped!" Rhonda's blood froze in her veins even as she spun to face her son. The mere word, kidnapped, was enough to strike fear in any mother's heart even


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without fully understanding the situation. She glanced up to see her own mother stepping inside through the open doorway. "Isn't that your friend's son?" Rhonda's mother asked. Rhonda blinked at her as her mind whirled, trying to make sense of this latest chaotic moment. Kidnapped. Her friend's son. Timmy. Oh my God. "Are you sure?" Her gaze danced from her mother to Lucas and back again. "How do you know?" "I heard it outside," Lucas told her, his words coming on uneven breaths, a combination of the excitement and the sprint he'd obviously done to get back inside the house. "The firemen are talking about it. Somebody on one of their radios said Timmy's name and that he's missing." Rhonda glanced at her mother who was nodding her confirmation. "I'll go see what I can find out," Preston said and was out the door before she could respond. Rhonda had to give it to him, lazy or not, he still moved fast when he needed to. Well, some of the time. **** "You should eat. A young boy such as yourself needs to keep up his strength. Growing bones and all of that." Timmy stared at the man who sat opposite the table from him, his elbows propped on the tabletop. If his Mom were here, she would fuss at the man for that. Elbows on the table were bad manners. Of course, Timmy supposed kidnapping wasn't very good manners either. Not that the man looked like a teddy bear. No. This dude looked scar-y, like someone straight out of the war movies he liked to watch. A white scar stood out in the man's dark skin, beginning at his temple and curving down under his eye as if someone had attempted to cut out his eyeball. His hair was short and black and he wore a gold earring in his right ear in the shape of a cross. Timmy didn't go to church, but he bet he knew more about God than Mr. Scarball, did. "Are you going to stick needles under my fingernails?" It was something else he'd seen in war movies. The bad men used it as a form of torture to make the good guy talk, make him reveal the location of the rest of the soldiers or of some highly classified information of the U.S. government.

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Timmy curled his fingers into fists, already imagining the sharp pain. Except, why would Mr. Scarball do that to him? Timmy didn't know any classified information. He didn't know anything. But even if he did, he wouldn't tell, he thought bravely and sat up straighter, met Mr. Scarball's creepy eyes dead on. An American never revealed anything about his country, and a real soldier never gave, even under torture. Mr. Scarball stared back at him with eyes so black they looked demon possessed rather than human. Eyes Timmy knew he'd probably have nightmares about. If he made it off this boat alive, that was. "Actually, I believe my assistant forgot to pack my needles for this trip." Mr. Scarball said. "Though I generally prefer to simply sever the fingers as opposed to poking at them." Sever. Timmy knew what that word meant. Cut. Was Mr. Scarball joking? He sure didn't appear as though he were. The imaginary pain beneath Timmy's fingernails turned into a scream of agony... He clinched his hands tighter and gulped, but those were the only signs of his fear he allowed to show. "You are a brave boy. Are you not, Timmy? I am surprised that you should know of such things as torture techniques. I thought that Americans were sheltering their children from the harsh world of reality these days." "My Mom doesn't believe in that," Timmy told him and felt his throat tighten at the mention of his mother. He ignored it, determined to be strong, determined not to let Mr. Scarball see him cry. "She says I should know how violent and mean the world really is. She says that hiding the truth from me would only hurt me in the long run." "Smart woman, your mother." Mr. Scarball nodded approvingly. "Very beautiful too." Timmy didn't like that look in Mr. Scarball's eyes now. "You leave my mother alone. I'll kill you if you hurt her." He twisted his face into what he hoped was a mean face and made his voice mean too, trying to sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger without the German accent. But Mr. Scarball laughed. "Do not worry child. I will not hurt your mother or you. Now eat." He motioned to the plate of food he'd set in front of Timmy. "I'm not hungry," Timmy lied. In truth, he was starving, and the scrambled eggs, toast and ham smelled delicious.


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"That is an all American breakfast, is it not?" Mr. Scarball smiled so wide that it reached his eyes, making his scar contort, causing him to look like one of those evil clowns out of a horror movie. "Surely you do not think I poisoned the food." That was exactly what Timmy thought. Hostages never took anything from their captors, especially not food or drink. It was the easiest way for the captor to drug the hostage. Timmy crossed his arms, and stuck his chin in the air. "Thank you sir, but I'm not taking any chances. I'll eat when I get home." "Defiantly polite. You're mother has done a good job raising you boy. Tell her that for me, will you? That I approve of her parenting." He stood, shaking his head. "Still, if you will not eat… Suit yourself. You will be allowed to leave as soon as I get what I want." "You're really just going to let me go?" Timmy found that hard to believe. In the movies, the bad guy killed the hostage anyway, even if the bad guy got what he wanted. "Yes. I do not want to harm you. You are simply insurance, bait, if you will." "To get Ryan," Timmy said. He needed to keep Mr. Scarball talking, to find out as much as he could so when Ryan did come for him, he could pass on the information. Timmy learned that from the movies too. But that wasn't the only reason he wanted Mr. Scarball to talk. The bad man was preparing to leave. He'd already stood, pushed his chair under the table. Any second now, he would walk out the door, and Timmy would be left alone in this windowless room that smelled of saltwater and dead fish. "What do you want with Ryan?" "You should not worry your young mind with such details." "But you're going to hurt him, aren't you? You're going to kill him." "No. I am not going to kill him," Mr. Scarball said, and for some reason Timmy actually believed him. He wasn't going to kill Ryan, but that didn't mean someone else on this ship wouldn't. Timmy knew he wasn't alone with Mr. Scarball on this boat. He'd seen at least three other men, all dark haired, dark skinned and scary looking, when Mr. Scarball brought him aboard. There was at least one other man too. After all, someone had to be driving the boat. He'd heard the light purr of the boat's engine shortly after Mr. Scarball brought him to this room, felt

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the boat sway lightly as it pulled away from shore. He could tell the ship had stopped now, probably several miles from the docks, to drift as they waited for what they wanted, as they waited for Ryan. Mr. Scarball didn't say anything more. He moved out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him before Timmy could think of another thing to say to keep him talking. It was just as well, he decided, even as he fought not to feel scared, not to panic at being left alone. Ryan would be here to rescue him soon. He knew he would because Ryan was a SEAL. Ryan would save him and then he would save himself. And then, when this was all over and they got back home to his Mom—man, she was probably standing on her ears with worry by now—Ryan could marry her. At least, that was how Timmy hoped this whole day would turn out. **** There was no way he could get on board that ship in broad daylight without being spotted. Ryan knew that would be the case before he even got the boat in his sights. He'd accepted the fact that, for him at least, this could be a one-way swim. One way, that was, only if Phay gave his men a shoot on sight order because surely the goons realized that, by giving away their location to Ryan, they were also potentially revealing themselves to the fire department, coast guard, local police and whoever else might be listening to the emergency radio frequency. That whoever else being the DEA and, Ryan felt pretty certain, the members of SEAL Team Six. Yeah, someone out there had his back. More likely, lots of someones. However, it would take them time, possibly hours, to get into place and make their move. It was time Ryan hadn't been willing to waste, time in which Phay's men could be doing God only knew what to Timmy. No way could he let that happen. Ryan treaded water yards from the ship, trying to decide his best course of action. The swim out here had been nothing, not for a man previously trained in underwater covert techniques. But now that he'd stopped, he was beginning to realize the swim had been something after all, something that put a real toll on the knee he thought had healed. Slivers of razor sharp pain were shooting through his knee now, a clear indication he'd overdone himself. Too much longer in the water and he would risk losing mobility.


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And wasn't that exactly what he needed? To drown himself in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. What a way to save the boy. Since any hope of covertly boarding the ship was pretty much out of the question, he really had only one option. Swim to the side, climb on up the metal ladder he could see glistening in the sunlight, and announce to Phay's merry band of goons, "Lucy, I'm home." At which time, he would then discover exactly what order the other men had been given by their spooky, scary boss. If he fell to the deck shortly after his Ricky Ricardo entrance he supposed it would be clear the shoot on sight command had been given. However, if they rushed him, threw him in a holding room on the lower level, then his hope of living to see another day wouldn't be so far fetched. All he had to do was stay alive and someone would come after him. He knew that. Although, if he boarded that ship to discover Phay's men had so much as harmed a hair on Timmy's head, his chances of survival would likely lesson simply because he would have to hurt them. He'd counted three men on the deck, spotted a forth in the cabin. He could take them. Provided there were only four men aboard the ship. Oh yeah, and as long as he somehow managed to rankle away the submachine gun he could see resting so comfortably in one of their hands. "Swim to the boat." The order came from behind him along with the unmistakable feel of the barrel of a gun pointed hard into the side of his neck. Damn, but he must really be off his game to let someone sneak up behind him in the water this way. Although, when he thought about it, this was secondary proof of how completely off he was these days. The fact that someone, possibly this same bastard, snuck into the house in the wee hours of the morning and took Timmy without Ryan so much as waking from a sound, being the first. "Where's the boy?" Ryan demanded, his only movement the constant tread he was doing with his feet to keep himself afloat. "Where is Timmy?" "He's fine," the voice answered. It was an odd sounding voice, not heavily accented in the English-as-a-second-language way of most Cambodians. Oh, the accent was there, but if this guy wanted to, he could probably pass himself off as a true American. "Now swim." On the deck of the boat, Ryan saw a door open, probably leading from the lower level, and a man stepped out. Even from the distance, Ryan could see the guy was huge, beefy but muscular with a rigid way of carrying

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himself that screamed of Cambodian drug lord goon for hire. It wasn't until Mr. Don't-You-Think-I'm-Scary moved farther onto the deck and barked an order that the other men leapt into action. A few hand gestures, a couple of shouts and they disappeared from Ryan's view. An engine started, and then a much smaller speedboat rounded the ship from the port side, headed straight in Ryan's direction. And here was a scenario he stupidly hadn't considered. The goons were abandoning ship, switching to the smaller craft for a quicker and more certain getaway. "Climb into the boat," the man with the gun in Ryan's back ordered more forcefully now as the speedboat slowed and then stopped a mere few inches from Ryan's face. Ryan obeyed, swimming the few strokes it took to reach the boat and then hooking his arms over the side. Four men, two of which including Mr. Scary were large enough to give a WWE title holder a run for his money, stared back at him with hard, expressionless faces. Timmy, however, was not with them. "Where is he?" Ryan demanded, his gaze landing on Mr. Scary. With his stony face and the scar that marred his temple near his right eye, he struck Ryan as being the man in charge of this little abduction escape. "What have you done with Timmy?" "The boy is safe," Mr. Scary answered in a thick, accented voice. "He will remain aboard the ship. I am sure that your friends," he paused, smiled at the word, and it made him look even more sinister and dangerous, almost deranged. "I am sure they will find him shortly. What they will not find, however, is us." Mr. Scary's gaze flickered over Ryan's shoulder to the man behind him in the water, a silent order. The gun dug into Ryan's back. "Get into the boat," the goon said, this time through gritted teeth. But Ryan had other ideas. Beneath the water, he kicked with his right knee, testing it. Slivers of pain sliced through his leg but they were bearable slashes. He could swim for a while longer. At least well enough to make it to the ship where Timmy was supposed to be. None of the goons in the boat were wearing air packs, and he took a gamble the gun at his back wasn't either, but Ryan had his. He could use it if he needed to, hide out underwater to avoid these bastards, maybe even circle back and take them out unexpectedly one at a time. He'd trained in underwater combat for years,


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after all. The training and survival tactics were ingrained in his blood. All he had to do was let go of this boat and allow himself to sink for the game to begin. Ryan let go, felt the boat shift just as his arms left the side and felt one of the bastards in the boat close a hand around his right wrist. They'd anticipated his move first. Dammit! Ryan jerked, flailed but another of the goons moved to the side to help at the same time as the fucker in the water realized what was going on. The water goon hit Ryan, what felt like the butt of the gun landing solidly against Ryan's shoulder blade. Pain ricocheted through his back, down his arms, and for a split second he stopped fighting them. The blow would have been far worse, possibly even enough to knock him out, if water goon had been able to get the right amount of height to accompany the force. As it was, it made Ryan pause in his attempts to free himself because even the best trained body tended to hesitate when it received a blow like that. That slight hesitation gave the goons in the boat all the time they needed to gain the upper hand. They jerked him into the boat. Ryan landed on his face, barely catching himself with his hands before his nose smacked into the cold metal of the boat floor, the quick movement of his shoulders causing more pain to dance down his back. But the pain was nothing compared to that which seared through him seconds after he managed to pull his legs into the boat. One of the goons stood and stomped a size humongous foot right into the back of his right knee. Oh holy Christ. The fireworks that went off behind Ryan's tightly closed lids would have put the Big Apple's New Year's Eve celebration to shame. He rolled onto his back, grabbing at his knee, fighting not to retch as the agony washed over him in a cold sweat. They'd known just where to strike him to take him down, he realized as he forced his eyes to open. His gaze landed on Mr. Scary's crooked, self-satisfied smirk, and he knew, if not who the foot of death belonged to, then at least who'd given the order. "A little assurance that you will not try to get away any time soon," Mr. Scary told him in a tone that perfectly matched the smirk. Ryan wanted to wipe that smirk off the fucker's face. He vowed to be the one to do it too. As soon as he could move around this new world of pain. It was silly given his current predicament, but Dean Wolcott's voice resounded through the pain-filled fog in Ryan's head, telling him about the new firefighter who would be taking Ryan's place as Engineer. It appeared

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the Ivy League prick would have to find some other Engineer position to yank because Ryan was pretty certain he was going to need his for a while longer. The size humongous foot made contact once more, this time with Ryan's gut, and he doubled over in pain. Shit, shit, triple shit! That hurt. To make matters worse, the bastard had to be wearing hard-soled boots. Apparently this son of a bitch had been confident he wouldn't be the one going for a swim today. If only Ryan could somehow push the motherfucker overboard. With boots like that, he would have a hell of a time keeping his head above water despite his one hundred and eighty-plus pounds. Ryan forced himself to gain control of his limbs, to focus past the pain in his knee, in his gut. Tina. He thought of Tina, of her breathtaking smile, her soft body that, any other time, would have made his cock stand at instant attention. Hell, even now he could actually feel stirrings of life in the blood pumping through his shaft as fragments of last night, of the things she did to him, of things he did to her, splintered through the haze of pain. She was counting on him right now, depending on him to save for her what mattered most in her life. Timmy. And Timmy. That sweet, innocent boy was counting on him too. He moved, sweeping an arm out to catch Mr. Huge Foot by one ankle, ready to sweep him off balance and over the side, but Ryan was too slow. The toe of Mr. Huge Foot's boot smashed into Ryan's temple. Steel-toe boot, of course. It was the last thought Ryan had before the lights went out. **** Tina slammed the hood of her POS, narrowly missing her own fingers, and screamed a stream of curse words that probably would have made Ryan's sailor friends cover their ears. Tears fell in a narrow river down her cheeks, both in frustration and fear. The dammed car wouldn't start. She'd been fighting with it for nearly an hour, all the time that had passed since Ryan left her standing in his driveway, since Ryan peeled out in his truck, rushing off to save her son. Dear God. Timmy! Tina's knees went weak and she collapsed against the front fender of her car, buried her face in her hands. Where was her boy? Had Ryan found him? What if he had and they were on their way to her right now?


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The thought actually filled her with hope until another question pushed its way to the surface and sent a cloud of darkness smashing down on that momentary flicker of sunlight. What if Ryan found Timmy hurt or, oh God, even dead? What if they were both dead by now? She pushed herself away from the car, savagely swiped the tears from her face, and started walking toward the road. She couldn't do this anymore, stand here waiting, wondering, freaking out. She had to get to her son, and damn Ryan Magee for leaving her behind. She'd barely reached the edge of the yard when a car squealed to a stop in front of her. The window on the passenger side slid down and Rhonda stuck her head through the opening. "Get in." Tina didn't hesitate. There would be plenty of time for questions once they were on their way. She ran the few steps it took to reach the back passenger door of Rhonda's car, yanked it open and got inside, slamming the door and saying tersely, "I'm in. Let's go."

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Chapter 14 "There's something in here," Tripp said into the radio lip mic inside his helmet. Damn but the smoke was thick as shit in this house. As far as he knew, they had yet to determine the origin of this fire, but it sure would be nice to know exactly what the hell was inside this place. A normal house fire didn't produce smoke like this. No. The thick fog and raging flames he sliced through with the steady stream of water from the fire hose was anything but standard for this type of call. Tripp narrowed his eyes, attempting to see farther than his normal eyesight would allow, trying to train his focus on whatever it was that caught his attention through the mist when he first blasted the water through the flames in this back room. A storage room of some kind, he decided as he inched his way inside. He both sensed and felt Bailey's presence behind him, her tight grip on the hose several feet back to offer the hose guidance and support. He could feel her gaze on his back, imagined her eyes transfixed behind the face shield of her mask. "What kind of something, LT?" Jason Graham's voice came back in his ear. The firefighter was on point with his own hose team, tackling the flames from the outside. "It is definitely a something and not a someone, right? Because the house is supposed to be empty. Neighbors say the occupants evacuated when the first warnings started to sound." Tripp wasn't sure of anything, so he didn't answer. He had seen something moving in this room. Though everything appeared to be as still as a statue now. All except for the papers, boxes and carpet shriveling to ashes in the flames. "Just because the owners evacuated doesn't necessarily make the place vacant," Max Jasper reminded in his mad scientist voice. "Let us not forget looters, gentlemen. We are mere hours into the calm after the storm. Few have returned to guard their precious treasures. There's already reports


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creeping into the double digits going over the police scanner about robberies, break-ins. It's not pretty." "As if the city doesn't have enough to deal with right now," Jason muttered. "Like I said my friend, welcome to the calm after the storm," Max repeated, his voice now singsong. "Calm. Yeah, right," Bailey quietly scoffed into her own helmet mic. Tripp suspected her intention hadn't been to join in the conversation. She'd more likely been talking to herself, maybe not even meant to say it aloud. Still, he heard the edge to her voice and couldn't stop himself from responding. "You okay back there, Lamont?" He hated that he couldn't keep the concern from his voice, hated even more that everyone listening outside the house as well as in could hear it too, but he had no choice. The smoke in here was too thick to lean in for a confidential whisper. "I'm fine." Her response was clipped and curt and held an edge that screamed he was proving right now exactly why she thought they couldn't be both colleagues and lovers. Because he would worry about her, and everyone would know. Yeah, she sounded fine. Pissed, hurt, a little embarrassed even, but fine. Or was she? Tripp knew she had gotten pretty good at masking her fears in a work situation. He also knew she'd came a long way in conquering those fears or, at the very least, learning to cope with them, in recent months. Still, claustrophobia could be a tricky thing. He'd learned that himself simply by being around Bailey. And talking with her, and holding her, and… And now was definitely not the time to let his thoughts travel down that over beaten path. "I'm moving farther inside," he said into his mic. "Damn but the smoke is thick in here." Thick enough to kick in those fears the second member of his hose team was surely fighting to keep tamped down. "There's a faint tinge of acrylics, lacer, thinner and such in the air, LT," Max reported. "Anyone know if there's an artist of some type living here?" An artist? Tripp took a small step forward, moving farther into the room he'd assumed to be storage but he could see now was more like a work studio.

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"Jesus Max, is stuff like that explosive?" Bailey asked, her tone still curt but now for an entirely new reason. "No, forget I asked. I know it isn't. Otherwise, Tripp and I would be puzzle pieces by now." " Most of your artistic supplies are flammable but not explosive. They do tend to put off one hell of a smoke cloud though." "You're telling me," Tripp muttered, slowly moving the hose from side to side, pushing the flames back and down as he inched his way farther and farther into the room. But he'd barely made it more than a foot inside the door when he saw movement on his left. A sound. No. A screech from a cat. What the hell? It leapt out at him, a huge ball of black fur and bared teeth and claws, and he reacted instinctively before he could think. He spun, skittered back and bumped into a wall of shelving. He must have hit the wall harder then he thought, though it really only felt like a bump, because the next thing he knew, the wall was coming down, and he was going with it. **** "I've given the order to go in," Cameron Stone told Michael and Adrien from his seemingly laid back perch on the edge of a table in the guard shack he'd commandeered at the dock. Everything about the FBI agent appeared laid back today from his grunge styled bleach blond hair, to his palm tree printed button up shirt left unbuttoned over a green muscles shirt and blue surfer shorts. He looked every bit like a man who didn't have care in the world and nothing of the kick-ass FBI agent Michael knew him to be. Michael, feeling decidedly over-dressed in his full dark suit and tie, leaned a shoulder against a nearby wall and nodded. He'd expected the FBI to want to wait until nightfall before sending in the SEAL team mobilized and ready to board the ship. Thanks to Ryan Magee's broadcasted conversation with Fire Department Captain Dean Wolcott over the open emergency frequency, the agencies needed to assist in the rescue of Timmy Walker and, hopefully, the subsequent arrest of Veng Kim Phay's men were able to get into position far sooner than any would have expected. The Coast Guard had the ship in its sights, also thank to Magee and his radioed coordinates, and SEAL Team Six was ready to move on command from the FBI. A command that Cameron Stone, an agent known for not playing


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around on the job despite his boyish looks and ability to blend in and befriend everyone from the hardcore surfers of California to the highestlevel politician in Washington, had already given. "Am I the only one who's getting the sense those coordinates were a screaming come get us message?" Adrien asked, pulling out a chair at the opposite end of the table to sit. Michael watched Cameron watch Adrien. The FBI agent studied the DEA agent for a few short seconds and then nodded. It was obvious to Michael that nod was both in agreement to Adrien's question and in acceptance of the man."Yeah, I got that feeling too," Cameron admitted. "I mean, I know that's exactly the message meant for Magee, the coordinates coupled with kidnapping the boy, but Phay's men had to know we would get the message too." "You think they want us to find them on that ship?" Adrien asked, sitting up straighter in his seat. Michael shook his head and answered for Cameron. "He doesn't think Phay's men are on that ship." He saw from the brief flash in Cameron's eyes he'd guessed correctly although it really hadn't been a guess because it was exactly what Michael had been thinking too. It was all too easy. Phay wasn't known for employing stupid men, and leading the authorities straight to a ship where they were hiding, a ship they so recently used for drug trafficking, was a really stupid move. Unless they'd made sure the authorities would find nothing but an empty ship. Cameron looked at Michael, something suspiciously like admiration in his eyes. It was the kind of look that said, "Gee dude, you're good." Yeah, he was good and he couldn't help the urge to prove just how good by asking, "Do you know for sure or is it just a hunch? Have you talked with your informant again? Your inside man, he's in with Phay's men, isn't he?" Michael merely suspected that much was true. For the FBI to have infiltrated Phay's cartel that deeply in such a short amount of time spoke of a dammed good agent and dangerous operation. Cameron neither confirmed nor denied Michael's assumption though because, before the agent could speak, voices began transmitting over the handheld set to monitor the SEALs progress as they boarded the ship. "We're on." Two short words spoken in a clipped, authoritative voice that Michael easily recognized as Korbin Ziegler. "No movement spotted."

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"Starboard side clear and secure," another voice informed, followed by others in the same manner and hushed tones reporting their section of the ship was also clear and secure. Another even softly began singing a quick chorus of All By Myself. But it wasn't until a final voice spoke that Michael let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I've found the boy. He's safe, alone, and appears to be unharmed." **** "Hey! Let me out of here." Timmy screamed, pounded on the door, then kicked at it too for good measure. Although, all he succeeded in doing was making his throat sore, his hands sting, and his foot throb. He'd been doing this for what seemed like hours now, screaming, pounding. He even shouted a few choice curse words he'd heard on television thinking, if there were anyone on board this ship at all, that would surely catch their attention. It would have definitely been enough to have his mother storming into the room if she'd been in earshot. Cripes. Timmy wanted his mother. But he knew he could say the worst four-letter word in the book and she wouldn't come busting down the door. No one would come because he was alone. He'd heard all the commotion up on deck, heard the motor of another boat, listened as that boat sped away and everything fell silent, and he'd known then Mr. Scarball and his friends had left him alone. Still, it made him feel better, if only for a moment, to allow himself to want his Mommy. After all, no one would hear him so what did it matter if he sounded like a little crybaby? Especially since he may never see his Mom again. That thought made his eyes swim in tears, and he forgot all about being brave, about how old he was, about everything else except what he really wanted. He opened his mouth, ready to scream for his Mommy at the top of his lungs when he heard it—a faint click outside the door. A light tap and the door swung open to reveal a man dressed in a divers suit, a gun held at the ready. A Navy SEAL. Timmy knew it even before the man spoke into his lip mic. As he listened to the man report to his team that he found him, Timmy swallowed the tears he'd nearly let escape and morphed back into the brave boy he'd struggled to be since Mr. Scarball took him from Ryan's


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house. No way would he let a team of Navy SEALs know he'd been so close to crying out for his Mommy. That would be way too embarrassing. **** Rhonda couldn't imagine the hell Tina was going through. To know someone had her son, someone who could do unspeakable things to her precious little boy, and she was powerless to stop them because she wasn't there. She turned in her seat as far as the seatbelt would allow and looked into the back. Her gaze landed first on Lucas and no, she definitely couldn't imagine the gut wrenching fear her friend had to be feeling right now. Tina sat on the opposite side of the backseat from Lucas, her gaze transfixed on the passing scenery but Rhonda knew she wasn't really seeing the world outside. She was seeing Timmy—picturing, praying. Her softly tanned face was swollen and blotchy from tears shed, her eyes still luminous with even more yet to fall. Rhonda wanted to say something, needed to say something to help her friend, but what did one say to a mother whose son had been kidnapped by, geezus, Cambodian drug lords? That in itself made it all seem so surreal to Rhonda. This was the kind of thing she would have dreamed up to write. "He's going to be okay," Rhonda heard herself say softly and barely restrained herself from wincing at how lame it sounded. Still, she knew right now Tina needed to believe it. Hell, she needed to believe it. She thought back to the conversation she'd had outside her mother's with the firefighter the others called LT. He'd believed it because he'd been certain every law enforcement official in the area had leapt into action the moment Ryan's transmitted conversation with the captain went out over the radio. "You have some powerful connections in this city, girl," Rhonda told Tina. That got her a slightly quizzical look so she explained. "That's how we found you, how we knew about Timmy and where you were. The house next door to my Mom's caught fire and, well, long story short, Lucas was outside watching and heard Ryan over one of the firefighter's radios." "You rode out the storm at your Mom's?" Tina said with a cursory glance at Preston who had been driving like a bat out of hell since Tina got

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in the car and cursing every word in the book when someone so much as acted as though they might get in his way. For once, Rhonda kept her mouth shut about both his erratic driving and his foul language. Getting to the docks where Tina believed Ryan had gone to find Timmy was far more important. "Yeah," she answered with a look. At Tina's small, forced smile, she knew her friend interpreted her ask me how much fun that was look correctly. And you spent the storm with super hunky firefighter, Ryan Magee. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't say them. Now was certainly not the time to tease Tina but watch out when this was all over because Rhonda was dying to hear about this one. When this was all over. Rhonda wished this were something she had dreamt up in one of her books because what would come next was the happily ever after and if anyone deserved such an ending to her story it was Tina. Please God. Let Ryan be the one to give it to her. "Damn, I'll say she's got connections," Preston muttered. Rhonda turned to face the front as the car began to slow and, holy cow, the LT hadn't been kidding. The dock was swarming with people in suits and uniforms of all types. "Timmy!" Tina bolted from the car and ran straight through the crowd, directly toward three men who stood in a semi-circle around a small boy. Timmy. Thank the Goddess. Rhonda got out of the car, waited for Lucas to join her, and then began walking at a slower pace through the crowd. She was halfway to the place where Tina now knelt with Timmy in a tight embrace when she saw him. "Hey, it's that guy. Cosmo," Lucas said with a tug to her hand. Yes. Yes it was indeed Michael Cosmos. Rhonda's step faltered as her gaze met with the pair of exotic eyes she remembered so clearly from the grocery store. And that smile… Geezus. The man had a hell of a smile. As she forced herself to continue walking, she found herself thinking apparently the man was a fairly odd parent after all and today the child under his charge to grant wishes had been sweet Timmy Walker. ****


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"Tripp!" The name was torn from Bailey's throat on a terrified shriek. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Darkness closed in around her, leaving her blind, chilling the blood in her veins, hammering in the point she was now alone. No, not darkness but smoke. She wasn't alone. That was the panic talking, the fear threatening to take control. She couldn't let it. She wouldn't. Yes, the smoke was thick but she forced herself to remain calm, to think through the fear, to focus, she could see through it. She could see, oh Heavenly Father, Tripp's lifeless body mere steps from her own feet. "Man down," she spoke rapid fire into her helmet mic, just as quickly yanking at the hose, reeling it in until her thickly gloved fingers curled around the nozzle. Without Tripp's additional strength, the rush of water set as a powerful 100 PSI was almost too much for her to control, but somehow she managed. Maybe that old adage about one developing super human strength in a life-threatening situation held some weight after all. And this was a life-threatening situation for herself as well as Tripp. The flames in the room continued to lick the walls, the ceiling, the floor, despite the buckets of water shooting from the hose. She couldn't back off, couldn't give the fire even a second without the constant assault of water because that single second would be all the fire needed to build. Yet, she couldn't get Tripp out of there and control the hose too. "Max, get your ass in here," she ordered into her mic. She dared to look away from the fire, keeping the stream locked on in a side sweep that continued to push the flames back even as it doused and disintegrated. She squinted to focus through her face shield and then through the smoke to where Tripp lay. He'd fallen face down, the shelf collapsing on top of him, pinning him to the floor at the waist. He wasn't moving. Bailey couldn't tell if the was even breathing. Dear God, how badly was he hurt? "Tripp is hurt. I can't get to him, but he's not moving and there's some kind of shelving on top of him. I need help. Max, get in here," she repeated. "I'm on my way in, Lamont," Max's response came instantly back, loud and clear. "Hang on. Ladder 12 just pulled on scene along with the EMTs. I'm bringing Karlston and Shannon in with me. Are you okay?" Bailey knew Max wasn't referring to just her physical well being with that question. All the guys were aware of her claustrophobia problems. A

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couple of them had even been involved in recent months in helping the lieutenant set up different scenarios to give her practice in overcoming her fears. Scenarios much like this one where smoke was thick, visibility was next to zilch and she was alone. She tried not to bristle when she answered with a quick, "I'm fine." But all of them also knew that I'm fine wasn't exactly the same as saying Yes, I'm okay. "Shannon, join Lamont on the hose," Max ordered crisply. Who knew the HAZMAT engineer could take charge and be so calm under pressure? "Karlston and I will get the lieutenant out of here." "Aye-yi, sir," Shannon said, his response one of respect rather than the mocking tone one might expect to hear from a firefighter receiving orders from a man not his superior. Max Jasper had no authority in a command situation. With the captain and his superiors decidedly absent and the lieutenant unconscious, the chain of command stopped there. Still, no one batted an eye or voiced so much as a grunt in protest as Max stepped in to take the lead. Bailey felt the weight of the hose ease as Shannon added his strength and support and then he wasn't just a voice through her earpiece. He was a steady presence at her back. She caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye, felt the light brush as Max Jasper and David Karlston moved by her into the room. Her attention was back on the fire, on her job, on the one thing she could do at the moment to help Tripp. Again, she caught a flash of color through the smoke, this time the movement of the shelf that pinned Tripp to the floor as Karlston and Jasper picked it off the lieutenant, tossed it aside careful to discard it away from the remaining flames. No need to give the fire any added accelerant. Then she heard it, a sound, a groan. Tripp's pain-filled and barely audible whisper through her headset. "Hey there, Lieutenant," Max spoke to Tripp. "About time you decided to come around. Helluva time and place to decide to take a nap." "Where are you hurt, sir?" Karlston asked, his deep, deadpanned voice easily discernable over the radio. "Can you move?" "I…what…no…can't feel…legs." Tripp's words came on quiet gasps, thick with his Texas accent and heavily disoriented. Still, what he did say froze the blood in Bailey's veins. He couldn't move his legs.


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Dear God. "Vega, you copy?" Max barked to EMT Terri Vega. "Yeah, I copy. Nox and I are here with the stretcher. We can't get any closer. You'll have to bring him out." "I think he's got a back injury. Is it safe to move him?" "You don't have much choice, man," Cory Nox, the second EMT on scene, answered. "Lift him as carefully as you can." "Roger that," Max said. Then he spoke to Tripp. "Hang on LT. David and I are going to carry you out of here." "Bailey," Tripp whispered. "Can't leave Bailey alone in here." "I'm not alone," Bailey told him around the lump in her throat. "Shannon is here with me. I'm on point but he's backing me. I'm fine." She thought about her brief exchange with Jasper minutes earlier and corrected herself. "I'm okay. We have this covered." She repeated herself because she knew pain could hinder a person's ability to comprehend fully and Tripp would worry if he thought he was leaving her alone. In truth, he was leaving her. He just didn't know it yet. And after all that anger at her for attempting to leave him. If his injury was as bad as she feared—geezus, he couldn't feel his legs—then there would be no need for her to go because Tripp would be forced to leave. Christ, this was not the solution she'd hoped for.

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Chapter 15 Tina couldn't let go. It was possible she would never be able to let go again. As she knelt on the shell-covered parking lot of the docks, her arms wrapped tightly around Timmy, all she could think was, Thank you God and Ryan Magee. Her son was safe. "I was so scared, baby. So scared," she whispered, unable to stop the river of tears that streamed down her cheeks, dripped onto his shirt. Ryan's shirt, she realized. He still wore the faded heavy metal band T-shirt Ryan had given him yesterday. "I'm okay, Mom." Timmy assured her, his voice shaking just a little. He hugged her as fiercely as she was hugging him. "Please don't cry, Mom. I'm okay." And Tina realized her son, her sweet little boy, was comforting her. He'd been kidnapped, taken by strangers—bad strangers—for many hours. Hours he'd probably spent scared out of his mind, but instead of showing an ounce of that fear, he was being strong for her, comforting her. "I love you, sweetheart," she told him and tried not to remember her own fear when she'd thought she might never get to say those three words to him again. "I know, Mom. I love you too." "You're really okay?" Tina asked, finally pulling back but only enough to look at him. He looked okay. No bruises, no scrapes or scratches. She let her hands glide down his arms, sucked in a breath when he winced as her hands closed around his. She lifted his hands to inspect them, found them red and just a bit swollen. The red would no doubt turn to bruises later. His hands looked as if… "I got a little scared," he admitted, his voice small, his face turning the same shade as his hands. "Mr. Scarball locked me in a room, and I heard him leave and I was scared. I started yelling and pounding on the door, but


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they ignored me, and then the SEALs came. Did you see them, Mom? A real life team of SEALs rescued me. Isn't that so cool? It was just like in the movies!" Tina had to laugh. Oh, the exuberance of the young. "I knew you were a Fairly OddParent. You just aren't my oddparent cause my name isn't Timmy. It's Lucas. But his name is Timmy and you saved him." Tina slowly stood, looked to Lucas Ramsey who was rambling on to a very nice looking man in a suit. At first, Lucas's words made no sense, then she made the connection. Timmy was the character's name in the Nickelodeon cartoon The Fairly OddParents. But what did that have to do with Mr. TDH? She glanced at Rhonda standing a safe distance back, her arms folded under her breasts, her gaze practically Superglued to Mr. TDH. Then he looked up, straight at Rhonda and the smile he gave her turned him from simple tall, dark and handsome to drop dead drool worthy. Make no bones about it, the man wanted her. Tina had seen men look at Rhonda like that before. She was a beautiful woman Still, that smile. It wasn't your average, Hello, it's nice to meet you smile. No, that smile clearly said, Hey, it's good to see you again, baby. Holy cow! Was Rhonda having an affair with Mr. TDH? "How come he's a Fairly OddParent?" Timmy had turned to join in the conversation. "Cause his name is Cosmo," Lucas answered. "Actually, it's Michael Cosmos." Mr. TDH stepped closer to Tina, held out a hand. "I'm with the DEA, ma'am. If you don't mind, my partner and I would like to talk to Timmy about his, umm, experience today." "That's pretty cool but he didn't save me. The Navy SEALs did that." Admiration and undisguised hero worship rang in Timmy's tone. "And, you wanna know the best part? My Mom is dating a Navy SEAL! Isn't that cool? Ryan is really the one who saved me." His face fell then as he turned back to Tina. "But I couldn't save him, Mom." "You couldn't…what?" Tina's heart began the rapid climb back into her throat as she dropped to her knees in front of Timmy, but her gaze remained on Michael Cosmos. "Where is Ryan?" Geezus, she'd thought he was with the SEAL team, expected him to be in a debriefing, or whatever those

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commando types called the meeting they had at the end of a mission. But if he wasn't with the SEALs then… "What's happened to him?" **** Tina Walker was livid. Michael supposed she had every right to be. She was also a smart woman, very quick to catch on to details of the last twentyfour hours that Cameron Stone, for one, obviously would have preferred she not know. Such as the fact that the FBI had an agent on the inside who, though he'd watched over him the entire time, had allowed Timmy to be kidnapped in order to draw out Ryan Magee all in the hopes of capturing Phay's merry band of men. It was also thanks to that agent they knew now where Phay's men had taken Magee. Michael knew the fact was that the agent—heck, he didn't even know the agent's name—had to protect himself. The agent couldn't blow his cover, not even for the capture of three of four of Phay's men, because three of four of Phay's men wasn't enough for the FBI or the SEALs. Hell, it wasn't enough for Michael. Michael wanted Phay. He wanted to see the bastard's entire cartel go down and, chances were, if the FBI agent continued to work his way inside, one day soon they would have the bastard and all of his followers. Not just a few. Of course, one day and the arrest of a complete cartel of drug trafficking, murdering goons meant little to a woman like Tina Walker. She could see nothing beyond the fact that her son's kidnapping could have been avoided, and the man she loved—and though she hadn't said as much, Michael could see she was in love with Ryan Magee—was, even now, still in the hands of a mob of criminals. "I've never seen her like this," Rhonda muttered out of the side of her mouth as she stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the show unfold between Tina and FBI Agent Cameron Stone. "She's really pissed." "Why do you think I backed up?" Michael said on a half laugh. He wasn't stupid. The minute he spotted the steam spewing from Tina ears and realized its cause, he'd made a rapid retreat, leaving her in Stone's capable hands. The agent was, after all, more responsible than Michael for this outcome.


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Though, okay, maybe backing up as far as he did hadn't been such a smart thing after all because his backward dance had put him right beside Rhonda Ramsey. Damn, she smelled good. It was a subtle scent of herbs and oils, a natural scent like that present in most New Age stores. It drifted over him, seeped through him, swirled inside him hardening his cock and filling his senses with her. He hadn't gotten close enough to catch her scent in the grocery store and wished he wasn't close enough now. It was all he needed, something more to add to his tormenting dreams about this woman. "Did you know?" "About the FBI's man? Yeah, I knew. He'll keep Magee safe until the SEALs can get to him tonight." "You know where he is then? Ryan, I mean." "Shell Island." He probably shouldn't have told her that much but he figured, what the hell, who was she going to tell? There were several small islands in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of Silver Springs and Billings. All were uninhabited, most too small and overrun with foliage to be anything more than lumps of land in the middle of the water. Shell Island was one of those lumps. He knew of a small clearing on the island, just large enough to land a Helo and would bet his next paycheck and half of Adrien's that was how Phay's men planned to escape. "How do you know he's there?" "The agent left a clue aboard the ship where Timmy was found. Magee is there." "Why wait till it gets dark? Why not go get him now?" Michael chuckled and dared a glance at her. Geezus, she was beautiful. She'd pulled her long blond hair into a Scrunchie at the nape of her neck, but a few tendrils escaped to play around her face when the wind blew. Her make-up was light—a little blush to accent her cheeks, a dab of eye shadow to bring out her already large round eyes, a touch of frosty looking lipstick to outline those lips he'd dreamt of tasting, of feeling, of devouring. Damnit! "Is this the concerned friend or the writer asking?" She grinned up at him, and his world didn't just tilt, it flat out lay on its side.

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"Both, I suppose," she admitted with a shrug. "It's not every day I get an opportunity to get such in-your-face research." "Any time you need info on the DEA, give me a call." Oh man, he hadn't meant to say that. It sounded as if…. Rhonda sighed. Yeah, it sounded that way to her too. "That's probably not such a good idea." "What? He doesn't let you have friends?" Yikes! That came out sounding way too defensive and jealous. Cripes! What right did he have to sound jealous? He really needed to shut up now. This woman was married. M-a-r-r-i-e-d. "I'm sorry. Don't answer that. I just thought, well, writers do research and well, if you ever run across a plot line where you want to add a few drug runners, I work out of the local office. The number is in the phone book." "Thanks." She hesitated, shuffled her feet as if she wanted to say something more but wasn't sure how. Michael figured he knew and tried to make it easier for her. "I'm not gay." She averted her gaze, winced visibly, nodded. "I didn't think you were." "Your husband does." Michael had heard the guy ask, Who is that gay fucker Lucas is talking to? The "gay fucker" in question had been Michael. He hadn't taken offense. It had obviously been meant as an insult rather than a true jab at his sexual orientation. "Preston is…well, he's just like that. He can be a bit jealous, I guess. He doesn't care for me talking to other men. Though if you ask him about it he'll tell you he doesn't give a shit who I talk to. He's very insecure." "He doesn't make you happy." And there he went again, saying things he shouldn't say. Shut up, shut up, shut up! "He tries. And Lucas likes having his Daddy around. That's what matters." And with that, Michael knew. Rhonda Ramsey stayed with her husband for her son. If not for Lucas, she would have no doubt divorced Preston Ramsey a long time ago. "Your book, the one with the paleontologist and the executive, it's good." He surprised her with that one. The look of unadulterated shock on her face would have been a Kodak moment for the books if he'd had a camera.


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"You read my book?" Her already huge round eyes got rounder and larger and those luscious lips parted as her mouth opened in an O of astonishment. Michael glanced around, pretending to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in conspiratorially. Big mistake. Huge! Danger Will Robinson. Getting that close to Rhonda Ramsey should have, by all rights, set off the alarm bells in Washington. "Don't tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation to protect. A guy like me reading a romance novel." He grimaced, shook his head. "Not good for the image." She laughed but he could see she was still mesmerized by the knowledge he'd read her work. When she finally spoke, her words confirmed that fact. "My own family hasn't even read anything I've written. Tina read a couple of stories, but she has so little time to read, but no one else I know. Wow! I'm, well, I'm flattered." Christ, didn't this woman have anyone in her life who was proud of her accomplishments? Anyone she could talk to, share her dreams and goals with? Anyone to ask her how her day went or what she planned to do tomorrow? Michael didn't know exactly what it was about her comment that made him suspect it, but he did. This beautiful, talented, amazing woman— and okay, maybe he'd only met her twice but it was enough for him to know she was definitely amazing—was surrounded by people and yet completely alone. "We've got the okay to start questioning the little boy," Adrien informed Michael as he approached. "Has Ms. Walker stopped spitting nails?" Michael wasn't so sure talking to the boy right now was such a good idea if his mother was still breathing fire. He doubted the boy could tell them much anyway aside from a description of his kidnappers. Mr. Scarball, Timmy Walker had called one of them. Michael guessed he already knew who that was. One of Phay's newest goons by the name of Atith Sovannarith. "She's still pretty angry but yeah, I think her ammo supply is about out." Michael turned to Rhonda, but before he could say anything she spoke. "Drop me an e-mail next time you decide to read one of my books. Let me know what you think." Michael stared at her for several long heartbeats. Was that an invitation to talk to her, to get to know her without Preston knowing? Or was it simply

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what she said, a way for her to know what he thought of her work? She wasn't the affair type. Despite the loneliness and despair he sensed in her, he could sense that as well. But she could, no doubt, use another friend. Michael nodded. "I'll do that. It was, umm, nice seeing you again." As he followed Adrien to the little shack where Stone had taken Tina and Timmy Walker to be questioned, he found himself looking forward to sitting down at his computer later and typing out an e-mail. Geezus. He was pathetic. **** Ryan awoke to a world of pain, of darkness and… A voice softly singing the chorus to Pantera's hit I'm Broken. What the fuck? It took only seconds for him to recognize the voice, to understand where he was at least in part, and what was happening. The team had come to save him. Hoo-yah! "Cut it out, Cabelly." The commander's whisper split the silence of the night. If there were any goons within earshot, they were toast. But no, Korbin Ziegler wouldn't be so careless. Neither would Cabelly, despite his comical ability for knowing the lyrics to any song appropriate for damned near any situation. "Cutting, sir," Cabelly whispered back. "Some things never change," Ryan said, his breaths short and shallow as he attempted to push himself to his hands. God but he hurt—his head, his hands, his chest, his fucking knee. "Hold on there, Boy Wonder." Another voice in the darkness, Brandon "Ace" McCormick's voice. From the sound of it, the medic was kneeling at Ryan's knee. "I think your leg is broken man." "Yeah, bastard decided to tap dance on my knee a time or two before he clocked me in the head. Where the hell are we, anyway?" He could feel dirt beneath him and, when he looked up, he couldn't see any stars or moon so he gauged they were inside somewhere. But where?


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"Shell Island. We got three of them, Ryan, but two go away," the commander told him as Ace began to work his magic on Ryan's injured knee. Again. Ryan didn't ask the medic if he caught the irony here. After all, the last time he'd been injured in the medic's company it had been the same knee that had taken him down. The medic gave him the same shot, too, and Ryan felt the pain slowly ebb. It didn't go away, that all too familiar ache would be with him again for many months to come, but it eased enough for him to breathe, to think. "Timmy?" Right now he could care less about Phay's men, who was dead and who wasn't. He was pretty sure the three the team "got" had been sent to their hellish reward by now. What he cared about was Timmy. "He's fine. We found him safe and sound, locked in a room on board that ship. He's with his mother now, and they're both waiting for you." "It was refreshing to see you haven't lost your touch with the ladies," Cabelly chimed in. "Giving up the pin and the ice cream suit." His SEAL trident pin and white dress uniform. Ryan hadn't given them up exactly. He still had them in the back of his closet. "I never needed the pin and uniform to get the girls. That's your crutch. Besides, women dig the turnout gear just as much as the snowman getup." "No shit. Interesting." Cabelly sounded thoughtful at that. "Well, that Tina Walker is certainly a looker man." "Hands off, Cabelly." Ryan ordered. "That one is mine, and the little boy that comes with her." "Whoa, man, do I hear a ring sliding on her finger?" Ace chimed in. "You're good to go, Chief. Take it easy. Rest your weight on me. Cabelly, grab his other side." A ring. Wow, he hadn't considered that but, yeah, Ryan supposed it wasn't such a bad idea. He loved her. He'd realized that in the hours spent talking with her, feeling her, being with her at his house. He loved Timmy too. But geezus, marriage! What the hell was he thinking? Commitment, a family, monogamy, had he lost his mind? Besides, how could he expect her to want to marry a man like him anyway? He'd gotten her son kidnapped for cripes sake. Because of him,

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she'd been put through hell today. If he were Tina he wouldn't want to see him much less spend the rest of her life with him. Yet, the commander said she was waiting for him. A ring. Yeah, maybe he had lost his mind. Or maybe he'd just managed to let Timmy and his incredibly smart, wonderful, sexy, mature mother into his heart. **** "You guys are here to break me out, right?" Ryan asked, shifting in the hospital bed until he sat up straighter, hiding the wince at the pain that tore through his mid-section thanks to the array of contusions, bruises and broken ribs he'd received from Phay's goons. "Sorry bro. No can do. Commander made us promise to be good little SEALs today," Spaz quipped as three members of the team entered Ryan's hospital room. "The doctor says you won't be in here long though," Cabelly added. "To bad too. The more I look at that woman of yours the more I wouldn't mind having a night or two to take her away." "You couldn't handle that woman, Cabelly. Tina would have you saying please and thank you and ready to worship the ground she walks on my nightfall." "I'll pass. Thank you." Cabelly laughed but instantly turned serious. It was kind of freaky to see, Cabelly serious. In the years Ryan had known the man, he could count on one hand how many times he'd seen this phenomenon. "You are settling down with her, aren't you man? I mean, you've confessed your love and all the stars above and all that sappy crap to her, right?" Even in his seriousness, Cabelly could still make jokes. Ryan fought not to squirm. He hadn't. He hadn't told Tina anything, hadn't confessed to so much as a hangnail since he found her waiting for him in his hospital room after he got out of surgery to repair his knee. It wasn't just broken. Of course, it couldn't have been that easy. No, the bastard had all but shattered Ryan's kneecap.


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But she'd been there; her and Timmy, when he'd awaken from the sleepy time drugs the doctors had given him. She'd stayed too, throughout the night and all the following day. It had been two days since the team had brought him back from Shell Island. Two days, and in all of that time he'd yet to figure out exactly how to tell the woman he loved, well, that he loved her. They had talked though—about the kidnapping, the rescue, Phay's men. She didn't blame him for what happened. That was a relief. Timmy didn't seem too traumatized by his experience. That, too, was a relief. If anything, the boy talked about it as one great big adventure. Being rescued by Navy SEALs. Hoo-yah! "FYI, the ship where we found the boy, it wasn't the same ship Phay's men used to make the delivery," Ziegler told him. The commander settled in the chair at the side of Ryan's bed, rested his left ankle on his right knee. Ryan sighed. He'd been afraid of that. It seemed far too easy and stupid for Phay's men to lead him straight to the ship most likely chock a blocked with evidence to bury them under the jail for drug trafficking. Still, he'd foolishly hoped. "Stolen?" he asked and received a nod of confirmation from the commander. "Coast Guard and DEA are back on the hunt for the original boat but," Spazetty shook his head, "chances are they won't find it." "And the goons that got away?" Ryan asked of the two men the team hadn't taken out on the island when carrying out their rescue mission. "One was the FBI's guy," Ziegler answered. "The other we've managed to identify as Atith Sovannarith." "Mr. Scarball," Ryan whispered, remembering Timmy's name for the man. He knew that was the guy. He'd talked with Michael Cosmos at length about the man who'd taken Timmy. "We'll get him," Spazetty vowed with a ferocity that rivaled his usual spastic tone. "And when we do, the bastard is going to pay," Cabelly chimed in. "I don't suppose you're ready to join us again," the commander said only half in jest. "When your knee heals again, that is." A soft rap at the door drew his attention to it just as it slowly swung open and Tina walked in. Ryan met her gaze as he answered. "Sorry, sir. Thank you, but no. My days with you guys are over. I think I'm ready to

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settle down a bit." Tina's step visibly faltered at that, and he had to smile. She may not have understood his complete meaning behind the comment but she was catching on. "In that case Chief, we'll see you around." The commander rose and walked to the door. Spazetty and Cabelly followed, Spazetty shooting Tina a wide mouth grin and a, "Later gorgeous," as he passed her. Cabelly, of course, had to sing. "Have I told you lately that I love you? Have I told you there's no one else…?" Tina laughed, shook her head as the door closed, Cabelly's words trailing off. "That man is like a walking radio station." Ryan chuckled and damn that hurt. "You have no idea." He looked at her, wondering if the lyrics to Cabelly's song, or rather Rod Stewart's song, had hit home. If they had, she wasn't letting it show. "I just came back from Tripp's room," she told him as she sat down in the chair the commander had vacated. "How is he?" Ryan still couldn't believe the lieutenant had been injured on a call. A call in which Ryan himself hadn't been on. Not that he would have been able to prevent Tripp's getting hurt. No, he didn't kid himself into thinking that. "Better. He has feeling in his legs again but his back, well, there was some pretty substantial injury to his muscles and tendons. He's going to be in rehab for while and even then," She shook her head. "Gosh Ryan, Dean said he may never be the same again." Ryan looked down at the thick cast on his leg. He didn't need x-ray vision to see through that cement to know his own time in rehab would be extensive. Again. Hell, he wasn't sure he would ever be the same. Again. Tina read his mind. "You'll bounce back," she told him with more confidence in her tone than he possessed in his entire soul. "You've done it before. You'll do it again." Ryan nodded. "Will you be there to help me?" Tina stared at him for far longer then he could take. When the silence stretched on, he said, "I want you to be there with me, Tina. You and Timmy. I want the three of us to be together."


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"Mr. Magee, it's time for your blood pressure check." A perky nurse of about twenty-three with chestnut hair and matching eyes sailed into the room. Ryan barely gave her a glance. A week ago—heck, even just a few days ago—he probably would have attempted to get her to climb into the bed with him. But that was before Tina, before he got to know her, before he fell in love with her. Now all he wanted was for the nurse to leave. Instead, it was Tina who got up to go. "Timmy is outside with Jason," she told him. The hospital staff was allowing Timmy to visit but only for a few minutes each day. He'd used those minutes earlier that morning. "I know Jason wants to visit with Tripp for a while." She advanced on him, leaning over to brush her lips over his cheek before quickly straightening and backing toward the door. "I'll see you later, okay." "Yeah, okay." Ryan watched her go and hoped, for the first time in his life, he hadn't just scared a woman away.

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Chapter 16 The doctors told him he may never walk again without the aide of a cane and even that much would be after countless hours of therapy, rehabilitation, and who knew what else. Actually, the doctors probably knew. The end result, Tripp Barrett's days as Silver Springs Fire Department B shift Lieutenant were over. He was out, gone, finished in the fire service. To some it may sound like defeatist thinking. Hell, even to him it sounded that way. But as he lay in the hospital bed staring at the too-white ceiling, surrounded by the too-white walls and assaulted by the scents of antiseptics, sickness, and despair, he knew the truth. He was a realist, always had been, and realistically that shelf landed on more than his lower back. It did far more damage then severely injuring his muscles and tendons. The shelf landed on his life and severed his career. Geezus! That hurt. All he'd ever wanted to do was be a firefighter. Amazing how one incident, one freak glitch in time, had taken that away. All because of a damned cat. Christ, he hated cats. "How are you feeling?" Bailey's question was as soft as the hand she'd placed in his. She sat in a chair at the side of his bed where she'd been for more hours than he knew. It was a comfort having her here, a comfort he'd allowed himself to accept, to enjoy and take advantage of because he had no clue how long it would last. "Do you want to talk?" Talk. Yes. He and Bailey definitely had lots to talk about. Not that they hadn't talked since the accident. They just managed to avoid, whether by accident or on purpose or hell, even accidentally on purpose, the many things they needed to discuss. After all, the horrible food they served in this place or the speculation going around that Tina Walker somehow managed to tame the station Playboy Ryan Magee made for much more entertaining conversation.


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What they needed to talk about, however, was their relationship, and no matter what Bailey thought or said, they were in a relationship. They needed to talk about secrets, about the way he'd stormed out of the captain's office, about, geezus, how much he loved her. But how to begin such a conversation? Once again, he didn't have a clue. Bailey did though. She knew, and she wasted no time in getting started. "My parents came back today." Her hand tightened on his just a little, but it was enough for him to feel the tension in her. Not that he'd needed to feel it to know it was there. Her ramrod straight posture, the stiff set to her shoulders and neck, the grim line of her lips all screamed she'd recently become a walking tension convention. When he paid attention to her words, however, Tripp finally got a clue of his own. Her parents were back and, judging from her cool demeanor and obvious struggle to keep herself together, Bailey had finally confronted them. "Are you okay?" He surprised her with that one. He could tell in the way her eyes narrowed a bit, in the way her head tilted slightly as she gazed at him. Obviously she wasn't okay. He knew it and likewise she knew that he knew it. Still, also obviously, she'd expected him to ask if her parents were okay. But it was Bailey he was worried about. Not that he wasn't concerned for Benjamin and Margery Lamont. Imagine returning from an extended trip of seminars and lavish hotel rooms to discover that, while you were gone, your house was all but wiped off the land. Nearly everything they owned was gone, the speculation being a tornado sprouted from Hurricane Emilio sat down on top of their two-story ranch style home. Bailey's cottage mere feet from the main house in the back yard, however, had survived without so much as lost shingle. Amazing how that happened in face offs with dear old Mother Nature. "I'm, well," she hesitated as if unsure exactly how to answer but then suddenly plunged on as if in a race against the possibility that words would fail her. "My parents, my biological parents, are dead." Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't spill over. They just danced there in the lower part of her eyes, taunting him, breaking his heart shimmer by sparkle. Tripp's own eyes filled with tears as he reached for her. Dear God, her parents—the one's who'd given her life anyway—were dead and she'd never gotten the chance to know them.

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"Don't." The brisk word made him stop, his arm frozen in midair between them. "Please," she added more gently. "I'm just managing to keep it together here. Okay?" Tripp nodded and let his arm fall to the mattress between them. He still held her hand in his and settled for softly caressing her palm with his thumb. "Okay." She was looking at him but he could tell she wasn't really seeing him. She was in another time, another place, picturing what they might have looked like perhaps. "Their name was Morris. John and Annie Morris. Such normal American names, don't you think?" It was a rhetorical question, and Tripp didn't bother answering. Instead, he listened, a growing fear starting low in his gut as his mind attempted to predict what happened to the normal American parents named John and Annie Morris. The things his mind came up with however were nothing compared to the horror Bailey's next words revealed. "They were killed, Tripp. They b-burned to death." Oh my God. No. "It was arson. Can you believe that? Arson! Some bastard set their house on fire with them in it, blocked all of the exits and they…they couldn't…get out." She had to struggle to get the words out and she stopped, took a deep breath, then another and another before attempting to go on. "Mom and Dad—Marge and Ben, I mean—they said as far as they know the guy was never caught. The bastard killed my parents and got away with it!" "Where were you?" Christ all mighty, she could have been killed too. How had she not been burned alive with her parents? Words they exchanged in a conversation months ago when he'd first found out about her claustrophobia, the nightmares that kept her awake on a nearly nightly basis reverberated in his mind. Pain. Not horrific pain, but a burning type of pain. Pain where? What hurts? he'd asked her. I don't know. It isn't a specific spot. It's everywhere. I—I don't know. Had she heard her parent's screams as they died, felt their pain? Had she been burned? "They, the firefighters who responded to the call, found me huddled in the corner of the stand-up shower in the bathroom." She shook her head.


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"Somehow I knew to hide, to get to the safest place I could find. Somehow I knew that safe place was the tiled shower." "You weren't burned." It came out sounding as more of a statement than a question but he had to know. He'd seen her, touched her but not all of her. Did she have scars he didn't yet know about? Again, she shook her head. "No. Isn't that amazing? I was okay. A little traumatized." She laughed, a quick, short burst of air that held no humor. "Apparently a lot traumatized if the claustrophobia and the nightmares are any indication." "You think that's what caused it." "It has to be. I was so young, only two years old. I blocked it all out, Tripp. Everything about that night, I buried it in a hole in my head somewhere but it managed to manifest itself in the dreams, in the fears. A stand-up shower, if you think about it, that's like a closet. A small, enclosed space and it had to be dark in there. All the stuff that triggers claustrophobia in a person." Tripp nodded, a mixture of relief and grief twisting an odd combination around his heart. He was relieved she'd finally found the source of her fears. With the source, she would now be better equipped to learn to fight those fears for good. Still, he grieved for the small girl, the baby, who lost her parents in such a horrific way. "What happened to you? When the firefighters found you, I mean. I'm assuming the state took you in." "I was sent to an orphanage in Milbank, Alabama. That's where Ben and Marge found me." "They adopted you, gave you a happy home, and buried your past along with your parents." Tripp wasn't sure he agreed with what they had done even though he knew deep down they'd only done what they thought best for Bailey. A part of him felt she should have been told the truth when she was old enough. They probably would have told her too, he realized, if only she'd confessed her fears and nightmares to them sooner. "They thought it best that way." She shrugged, her words an echo of his own thoughts. "I can understand. Just imagine, if I hadn't gone snooping through their house before the hurricane, I probably never would have known the truth. From what we can tell, all the files, all my fathers papers and stuff, were destroyed in the storm."

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"But it's best that you do know," Tripp told her. Bailey nodded. "Yeah. I think it will help. I can't wait to talk to Diane Moss. You know, the psychiatrist I've been seeing." She hesitated then, eyeballed him as if she expected him to blow his top again. "I would like to continue seeing her. I—" "You should," Tripp said quickly. "You definitely should. And I'm sorry, Bailey, for losing my cool the way I did in the captain's office." "You had every right to be mad at me. I was, well, I kept a lot of things from you that we should have talked about. I realize that now." "Don't leave me, Bailey." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but dammit he needed her. She reached for him, cupping the side of his face with her free hand and leaning in to brush her lips over his in a kiss so soft he almost didn't feel it. "I'm not going anywhere, Tripp," she whispered. But as he gazed into her eyes he saw something more in their beautiful green depths than the promise she was making, something he couldn't put his finger on, something that told him his battle to win this woman was still far from over. **** Ryan watched Tina as she walked into his living room, and didn't attempt to hide the lust and pure sexual heat he knew shown in his eyes. Since bringing him home from the hospital some thirty minutes ago, she'd exchanged the jeans she'd been wearing for a pair of black spandex he thought had gone out of style years ago. But thank God and the fashion makers that continued to keep the skintight shorts on the market because, geezus, Tina's ass in those shorts was enough to send him into cardiac arrest. What a way to go. "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?" Ryan stared at her, let his gaze slide down her body from her slim neck, slightly stiff shoulders, her sweetly rounded breasts, to her flat stomach and abs, perfect shapely hips and incredible legs before making the slow climb up again. Damn, this was weird.


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Not the part of having her here, in his home, dressed like his favorite wet dream. Okay, not quite considering his favorite involved her not being dressed at all. Still, after the other night, seeing her here in his house wasn't so weird. Neither was the fact that he wanted her. And damn did he want her. But wanting a woman as innately sexual and alluring as Tina was pretty much standard operating procedure for him. It was the wanting her so badly without the promise of a quick and easy out, the knowledge he could picture her here just like this with him tomorrow, and the next day, and hell, even the day after that was as far from his SOP as he ever thought he would get. Yet, what truly topped his weirdo-meter was the fact that he liked it. Yeah, if he'd had any lingering doubts this was a mistake, about what he wanted, about what he intended to ask her and how he hoped she would respond, they were all gone now. She was restless. As he continued to watch her, his mind spinning ninety-to-nothing with thoughts that, by all rights, should have made his brain short circuit, she moved to the end table where she sat down a can of soda she'd brought in for him. She stepped back, bending over to pick up one of the sofa's throw pillows that had gotten tossed to the floor. Ryan felt one of the wires in his head fizzle at that one. Yeah, those spandex forming to that tight ass of hers was surely going to be the death of him. She put the pillow on the edge of the sofa near his feet, careful to avoid his cast then moved again. When she passed close enough for him to grab her, his arm shot out, catching her wrist. He zinged himself with the brisk movement, sharp edges of pain knifing through his side, courtesy of the broken ribs, but he ignored it. "Timmy is okay," Ryan told her softly, choosing instead to address her unease rather than his own needs. Needs that currently consisted of peeling off those spandex shorts and settling her quite firmly on top him, his already hard cock shoved impossibly deep inside her. "He's with Dean at the station. He's surrounded by firefighters. He's safe," he said again to drive home the fact. "They will keep him safe." Unlike the way I did. His hand on her wrist fell away at the thought. She didn't blame him for what happened, she'd told him as much close to a dozen times, but even knowing that didn't erase the guilt.

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"I know." Tina said with a heavy sigh. "You're right. Its just, well, I guess it's just going to take some time before I stop walking on pins and needles when he's out of my sight." Yeah, Ryan could understand. Still, "You've never sheltered him before." And he firmly believed that was why Timmy made it through his ordeal as smoothly as he had. Unlike a lot of kids in today's society, Timmy knew violence existed, he knew about things like drugs runners and terrorists, he knew the damage a gun could do or what blood looked like. All because Tina believed in the truth, in educating Timmy, teaching him right from wrong, rather than shielding him from the real world, lying to him by telling him things like war and gangs and violence didn't exist. "No, I haven't," she agreed, then sighed. "And I shouldn't start now." "Come here." Ryan patted the narrow space of empty sofa cushion at his side. Tina shot him a sideways look. "You're doing it again." "Doing what?" "Looking at me like you're intend to gobble me up for breakfast." "It's a thought." "Did the doctor say you could look at me like that?" Ryan laughed. "Honey, there's nothing wrong with my eyes." "Smart ass," she muttered, but the corners of her lips twitched. "The doctor absolutely gave me the go ahead to look at you in any way that my eyes felt comfortable." Actually, the doctor's real orders had been to take it easy, get plenty of rest, to listen to his body. Well, he was laying flat on his back on a soft cushioned sofa. That counted as resting. Didn't it? Listen to his body. Hell, right now his body was giving him the full speed ahead to glide his cock straight toward Tina's sweet, wet heat. He promised to take it easy if she'd just give him the chance. "In that case…" She pulled her shirt over her head, removed her bra, shucked the spandex down her legs and then, geezus, she was naked. "Sweet mother in Heaven," Ryan breathed. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Ryan glanced at his crotch, at the very visible pup tint that had begun in his jogging shorts. "Isn't it obvious?" Tina laughed but then she hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you."


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"Then stop standing there, and come sit on me, sugar. You're really killing me being so far away right now." "How is it you always know just the right thing to say?" She asked as she stepped to the sofa. He was trying to tug his jogging shorts down past his hips but being unable to lift his ass off the sofa with his leg partially covered in a cast made it next to impossible to do alone. She must have realized this because her eyes gleamed with a hint of amusement when she added, "Here, let me help." "I don't..." he said as she pulled his shorts down, snatched a condom from her handbag on the floor near the end of the sofa, and began to cover him. Jesus God, all the woman had to do was touch him, and he was right there, on the verge of a full-blown ejaculation. "Most of the time I just say things and hope it gets me what I want." "And it always does." She smiled as she carefully climbed onto the sofa, straddling his waist and then, oh baby, he was inside her. She was ready for him, hot and wet and tight and wonderful and it was such a turn-on knowing he didn't even have to touch her for her to want him. He watched her, mesmerized by the way she moved, by her breasts so soft and perky, by the faces of pleasure she made and the way her eyes drifted closed as he filled her, consumed her, took her. Damn, it felt so good! He didn't want to stop, didn't want to talk. He just wanted to lie there and feel. But there were things that needed to be said, questions that needed to be asked, and he couldn't wait a second longer. "Tina," he whispered and had to say her name two more times before her eyes finally fluttered open to look at him. He held her still, his hands firmly gripping her waist. No way could he think enough to form the sentences he needed to say with her riding his cock like that. "What I want is you." "You have me," she told him. One of her hands was on his chest, and she let it glide over his flesh, her touch light, mindful of his ribs but still caressing, loving. Did she love him? Christ, he hoped so. Ryan shook his head. "Let me rephrase. I want to marry you." Whoa! Where the hell had that come from? He'd meant to tell her he wanted to date, to have a relationship, but even as the words left his mouth he realized they were true. He did want to marry her. That whole ring idea

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was exactly what he wanted. Of course, leave it to him not to have the ring when he needed it. Tina's eyes were huge in her face, and it was possible she'd actually stopped breathing. But then she blinked, and her breasts rose and fell in a deep, slow breath. "Wow!" Okay, that wasn't exactly the response he'd hoped for, but what could he expect? He'd obviously just shocked the screaming bejesus out of her. Well, he'd come this far. Why stop now? "I love you." Three words he'd never said to anyone. Funny how they came so easily to him now. "I love Timmy too. I can't imagine my life with the two of you not in it anymore." She shook her head, disbelief swirling with astonishment on her beautiful face. "Ryan. My God, I—" "Do you love me, Tina?" He hadn't meant to put her on the spot this way, but he had to know. To top it off, his entire life, his future, his happiness all seemed to be hanging on her answer. "Yes," she admitted without hesitation, and a wave of relief and joy washed through him with such force he head to close his eyes for a second and just breathe. "I do love you Ryan, but…" Uh oh. But was never a good word coming from a lover. Especially not one he'd just asked to marry him. Ryan opened his eyes, braced himself, and waited. "You really love me enough to give up your Playboy single life?" she asked, either unable to hide the incredulity in her tone or simply flat out not trying to. "You're ready to give up the one night stands, the mystery new women provide, the thrill of the chase to settle down with me?" "Yeah. I know how crazy it sounds," Ryan admitted. "Me, a husband and, hell, a father figure to Timmy. Like I have any kind of role model in my past to refer to." He snorted but then he released her hip and reached for her. She leaned into him, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa holding a good portion of her weight. He was still inside her, miraculously still as hard as he'd been when this conversation began. Apparently, the idea of spending his life with this woman had become one hell of a turn-on.


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Her new position pushed her farther down onto him, driving his cock deeper still and she moaned softly, her eyes starting to close before she stopped them, met his gaze. "I love you, Tina," he told her again as he cupped the side of her face. He lifted his hips as much as he could without zinging himself in pain, stroking her, making love to her. She began to move with him, slowly, tenderly, all the while holding his gaze. "And Timmy. I love him too. All of those other women," he shook his head, "I can easily give them up because they aren't you. No one will ever be you." She wanted to believe him. He could see that too. It wasn't doubt in his love for her that kept her from saying it. No, as he gazed at her, caressed her and let himself become lost in her, he knew. It was fear. She was afraid to put her future, Timmy's future in his hands. Ryan understood, probably more than she could ever know. "How about this," he suggested, his breath starting to take on a ragged feel because, geezus, that slick pussy of hers stroking his cock was starting to make the remaining circuits in his brain fry from sexual overload. "Give me a maybe. I'm willing to accept a maybe, or a yes with a date far into the future. Yeah, I like that one even better. Yes, you will marry me, oh say, this time next year. And between now and then, you and Timmy move in with me instead." "You want us to…what?" Okay, maybe he shouldn't have started playing with her nipples because they were obviously presenting a tough obstacle for her train of thought. But damn, she'd leaned forward so far that her breasts were nearly dangling in his face. How could he not play with them? He lifted his head, found her right breast, sucked the nipple between his teeth and listened with growing satisfaction as she moaned her pleasure. Her free hand found his hair, her fingers burying themselves in the short strands as she arched her back, pushing her nipple deeper into his mouth. "Ryan!" He released her, letting his head fall back to the sofa as his hand slid lower, found her clit with his finger. "Move in with me, Tina," he whispered as he stroked her, as she rode him, as they both moved closer and closer to their own release. "Stay with me. Be with me." She opened her eyes, and he added, "I love you."

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And she came undone. Ryan wasn't sure if it was his heartfelt words, his finger on her clit, his cock in her pussy or a combination of the three but she exploded. Her body shook in fits of rapture, her inner muscles contracting in spasms that milked the seed from his cock with such force it had him crying out from the sheer pleasure. Lights exploded, bells rang, sirens sounded, and when it was over Ryan was left feeling as though he'd been put through the grinder at the SEAL camp. "I can't move in with you," Tina said breathlessly, and Ryan's heart stopped. He opened his eyes to look at her. She'd let herself lean against the back of the sofa, her eyes closed, her breasts rising and falling in rapid breaths. When he didn't respond, she opened her eyes, met his gaze. "We'll kill each other." A slow grin unfolded across her lips, and his heart began to beat again. He knew what she meant and, oh baby, becoming a murderer never sounded so good. "Is that your way of telling me you'll move in here?" "How's your life insurance policy?" "Why?" Ryan asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She shrugged. "Just making sure Timmy will be taken care of." Ah yes, in the event they did kill each other from having too much sex. Ryan got it. "Damn, I love you." He pulled her down, hugging her tight despite the fire that exploded in his sides and knew, he might be settling down, but as long as he had Tina he would always have the mystery and a lifetime of thrills.


STORMY NIGHTS The Heroes of Silver Springs 3

THE END WWW.TONYARAMAGOS.COM

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Bestselling author Tonya Ramagos spends much of her time daydreaming about one plot or another. Give her a cup of hazelnut flavored coffee and a keyboard and she is her happiest. When she isn't writing, thinking about writing, or plotting what to write, she can be found taking on the mother role with her two boys and the husband too. She enjoys taking long walks on the nature trails near her home in Chattanooga, TN, playing computer games, swinging on the playground, dancing, and curling up with a good book.

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

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