CHAPTER 34
I searched the motel room floor for blood, the nightstand for Sam's gun. Nothing.
Max barked. Ducking near the window, I peeked under the curtain. Max jumped back and forth in the empty field below, the parking lot's lamps spotlighting his dance. Play barks.
Below, Sam stood with his coat wide open, his bare chest braving the crisp fall. One hand was tucked into his jeans pocket, the other held a tennis ball in midair. Max stared intently at the ball, backing up in anticipation till Sam lobbed it into the field. Max bounded over the grass tufts like a gazelle, sniffed out his target, and returned to drop the ball at Sam's feet. The scene repeated. My heart leapt with each throw.
Laughing, I pulled Sam's extra dress shirt from his bag, smelled his skin, his sweat—scents I associated with his intensity. His determination that helped him brave a threatening world, while I snuck up to a moldy motel window.
Max skittered backwards as Sam arched his arm, holding the ball in the air. I stood up straight to watch. Catching my movement in the window, Sam looked up. The ball remained suspended in his fingers as he stared at me. I could almost hear his thoughts. What do I do with her now?
I let the towel drop. My skin rippled against the crisp air seeping through the glass, my nipples tightening to buds. Then I pulled on his shirt and left the window and waited for him.
But Sam didn't come up right away. Maybe he doubted my intentions. Doubted me. The wait shredded my nerves, what was left of them. That wave of euphoria vanished, and my courage short-circuited. The more time passed, the deeper that dark hole sucked me down.
When Sam finally entered, he hung his coat over the chair and set to unlacing his boot on the bed, ignoring me.
"Where's Max?" I asked finally.
"In the car. He's our alarm system right now if anyone approaches the building."
I fidgeted with the top button on the shirt, pulling the collar closed. "Maybe he could be our alarm system in here."
Sam watched my nervous hands. I tucked them under my arms for warmth.
He went back to work removing his other shoe. "You need to get something off your mind, say it now."
"Nothing. Just... you weren't here when I finished my shower," I said, biting my lip. "But there wasn't any blood, or signs of a struggle, so I shouldn't be so jumpy. Just my nerves. You remember those friends."
"Ah, shit." He dropped his boots to the floor. "Thought I was giving you space, not a panic attack."
I faked a laugh. "You'd think I'd be used to this life and death shit by now. Why can't I be more like you?"
"Because I wouldn't want you to be." He sat on the edge of the bed, thinking.
"Aren't you going to check your gun or the perimeter or something?"
"Not in front of you. That sets you off more." His voice was mellow, even as he reclined with one arm tucked behind his head. "Everything that can be done is done. You're looking to feel safe. Safety is an illusion. What you need now is rest." Sam rolled toward his bag, extracted a water bottle, and tossed it to me. "And you need to flush the toxins. Keep pounding fluids"
"This better be vodka." I wished he'd packed a seltzer and Tums. Between the adrenaline and Malta's cooking, my stomach was rebelling.
But what I really needed was warmth. I sat on the chair and brought my knees to my chest, sipping the cold water. Hours earlier, I'd been ready to take on the world, fight off Troy and James. Now I hovered in the middle of a motel room in Sam's shirt, shivering. And the heater was on full blast.
Sam turned on the television, flipped through a few channels with increasing irritation, then turned it off and tossed the remote aside. I'd taken a bite out of him, and the harm showed.
"My comment in the bathroom... that, that was uncalled for." My teeth were chattering, so speaking my apology sounded even more awkward than how I'd worded it.
"I need to know the truth," he said, not looking at me. "I need to know if something happened between you and Stone."
"Sam." This seemed an odd time to dredge up jealousy, but the air needed clearing, and I was just as concerned about Cameron. I needed closure before I could let him go.
"I need to know." Sam rubbed between his brows.
"You saw me. I was so confused from the alcohol and the drugs." My fingers gripped the bottle as my mind regurgitated the scene: I'd pushed Stone off me, locked myself in my room. But that morning, when I'd awakened to Sam's raid on the suite, there'd been a glass of wine on my nightstand, a cigarette floating inside. My body had ached, head to toe, and the covers had been pushed down to my ankles. But I couldn't process the possibilities at the time, because I'd been so consumed by Sam's entrance and exit. Even now I didn't want that bastard's image to sit between us. "But I stopped him. I swear to you."
"God, when you went to him. Right in front of me." Sam's jaw was as taut as the space between us. "I was so fucking angry with you." He wiped a hand over his face. "He played you. I warned you he would, and still you fell for every bullshit line."
"You're right." I withered, knowing I couldn't take back that slap I'd delivered Sam, the emotional or the physical one. And how cruelly I'd spoken to Sam in the storage room, telling him I'd rather escape alone than be with him. The same message his cheating ex shoved in his gut multiple times. When he most needed to hear that I wanted him. "I didn't get your hidden message till after you'd left. But still, I should never believe a word he says."
"Just not him." Sam closed his eyes. "Not him."
"There's only you, Sam." I gave him an apologetic smile when he rolled his head toward me. "That's my real problem."
His face drawn, he patted the mattress. I eagerly crossed the bed and laid my head on his chest, shivering. I could feel the heat of his body's frustration burning off, his chest rising and falling under me. He pulled the bedspread over me and rolled me tight against him.
Soft lips pressed to my forehead as he ran his fingers through my damp hair. "You always smell good." His bruised knuckles caressed my cheek, his thumb grazed my lips, warming me skin to bone. "Even that first day, you smelled of soap and sunlight. I couldn't stop inhaling you. I'd been so numb, so long. Bunking with twenty sweaty guys in a forest training post. I must've smelled like a dirtbag."
"I think I used the word 'rat'."
"Don't remind me. Practically passed out shaving that beard off for you."
I raised my head. "Thought you shaved to change your identity."
He grinned. "There's always a cover story."
Laughing closed more of the distance between us
I turned into his caresses, so his fingers covered my face and neck, and I remembered how alive I'd felt the first time he'd stroked my cheek, and how I'd run scared when the pleasure shifted to panic. Happiness in my life was something taken away, not given.
Warmth turned to longing as his thumb passed over my mouth, parted my lips. I caught his thumb and nibbled, drawing deep moans in his chest. Taking his hand, I dragged his fingers down the arc of my neck till he slipped his hand under the shirt and his wet thumb stroked over my nipple. His chest muscles clenched, his throat muscles tightened, and he wheezed for air like a man straining for control. But his hand wouldn't participate.
"You're holding back," I said. My fingers swept down the rigid scaffolding of his abdominals and I molded my palm over his hip.
"I was too rough with you earlier. That's not my style." Sam stayed my hand. "I don't want you to remember me like that. Not like today."
"We both have a dark side, Sam, and I don't want to be ruled by either of them." I took his hand and melted my lips against his fingers. "But you're right. Today was rough all around. So let's imprint something new."
My fingers danced up his blood-red ribs and crossed his chest, the tip of my tongue trailing through his chest hairs till his skin quaked. I nibbled his chest lightly at first, tasting his skin and rolling my tongue over his nipple till his body stirred and his erection strained against his jeans. Then I bit.
He jerked. "Okay, okay, you win."
"Careful, I might form an addiction to that." I met his gaze and then yanked the top of his jeans so all the buttons gave way.
Unbuttoning the shirt, I rose over him, cradling his hips with my thighs. When the shirt fell open, I pulled his rough hands to my chest. My eyes closed as he stroked freely, following the twists and curves of my body, his breath rushing toward my skin. His hands cradled at my thighs, pulling me a few inches forward for full contact. I shrugged out of the shirt, my body relaxing as he encouraged me to rock my hips over him. But I didn't need encouraging.
My fingertips grazed his stubble. He opened his mouth as I ran my fingers over his dry lips, thankfully unscathed by the fight. Then he pulled my fingertips into his mouth, his tongue and teeth foiling my remaining reservations.
My mind was also winding up. Gunmen could crash through the door, find us unarmed. Knowing I'd tensed, Sam pulled me down for a deep kiss, nipping at my lips as his other hand kept my body swaying against him. Then he rolled onto me, imprinting his whole body over my memories, engaging my eyes so I saw only the heat in his.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and took his mouth, but he soon broke from the kiss and slid down my body, his mouth lingering at my breasts as his hips opened a channel between my legs. He slid down further, scraping my scar, but my twitch was nearly imperceptible. And Sam was very, very distracted.
The heat of his tongue made me feel more vulnerable than agents or assassins. And more alive. He parted me with his tongue, then closed me with his teeth, then parted me again. A flick of his tongue-tip on my clit jolted me, then he suckled and hummed with amusement. The vibration of his voice sent shock waves to my core. His tongue's rotation and pressure notched up. I arched and he ensnared my legs, pulling me back for more torture, keeping me close to climax so I clawed the bed. Then a finger, then three. And his mouth. Everything thrusting at once. A voice whirled out of my throat, a voice that frightened and excited me.
Quickly, Sam rolled to his side, peeled off his layers, slipped on a new one. I wanted him to drive into me, carry me over that edge again, fall into the abyss with me. Instead, he pulled me against him and rolled onto his back, encouraging me to be on top, and restarted that gentle rocking with our hips kissing again. He was giving me the control I needed to relax and take him inside me at my own pace.
And so I took him first in my hands, feeling the breadth and fullness of him, using my own body's moisture and coiling my fingers around the base and head at once and driving him till his erection cemented and his hips pistoned against his will.
Then I slid my sex along his length, engaging and disengaging his tip in my body, drawing out the moment of penetration until, maddened, he moaned my name. His head came up, watching. Then I sank. His head fell back, and he silently cawed for air. I lingered a moment, adjusting to his girth, before my body began to dance, hips pulling forward then leveling completely, quick-rising onto my knees so I pulled him to the very tip, and then sinking again with tempered force. He was visibly fighting the instinct to draw up his legs, throw me on my back, and fuck me blind.
I inhaled the sweetness of his perspiration as he glistened in the sweltering room, my hands sliding over his torso, then pushing against his nipples so his pecs gripped in retort. Like I was sculpting him. I wanted all of him aroused, all of him on fire. Because an ember in me was about to ignite again.
His hands came up to hold me, but I stretched his arms onto the mattress, entangled our fingers and let my breasts skate against his chest as our lips and tongues fought for dominion. The beats were rising, the rhythm slipping from my control. His moans vibrated in the back of my throat, his body thrashing under me, fighting the inevitable. Finally we both let go.
***
"Let's go," said Sam.
I jolted upright. My gaze shot to the door.
Sam pulled my chin toward him. "Stop that. There's no one there." He stood over the bed buttoning his jeans, his hair wet from showering, his chest bare and dewy. "Alert doesn't mean paranoid."
"I'll consider the source."
Dropping on the bed's edge with a bounce, he started tying his boots. I worried about how long we'd slept, dozing in our post-coital curl, vulnerable to gunmen and Feds alike. We'd crashed so hard my side ached from not moving. But when I turned toward the window, no light appeared behind the curtains.
"I thought morning was supposed to come with sunlight," I said.
"Not the midnight kind." Sam leaned, planted a kiss on my lips. "Good morning, by the way."
His eyes swept over my face and I cupped his cheeks with my hands, pulling him closer, inhaling his clean smell, his minty tongue. A rush of heat flashed up my neck as he dove into my mouth. Every time Sam kissed me, it felt like the first; unexpectedly tender, simultaneously arousing, and always as satiating as a full meal. Our kiss intensified. He groaned as his hand searched beneath the sheets, found my bare hip, then my ass.
"Ah, Christ," he said and rolled onto me, so his belt buckle grazed my scar, and I gritted my teeth against the rising pain, the burning distracting me from arousal.
"We gotta go," I whispered, as he pulled my thigh wider. "Max must be frozen."
"Max is sleeping by the front door." Sam's lips nipped my neck and I squirmed, fighting the heat building in my core. My stomach was on fire for a different reason.
I pushed up to see Max's yellow body and called for him. Tail wagging, Max jumped onto the bed, licking Sam's face.
Sam dropped his hand from my breast. "Okay, that's too weird for me." He shot off the bed, pulling at the front of his pants and shaking out his leg, as if gravity could reduce the swelling. "Suit up. We roll in ten."
He pulled on the dress shirt and tucked his gun in his waistband. When I didn't jump at his command, he threw my pants in my lap.
"No kidding. Shit, shave. Get it done in two." He jerked his chin, as if saying take me seriously or, more likely, don't leave me high and tight again. As I ducked into the bathroom, Sam called, "How's your stomach?"
"Nice and clean." Facing the mirror, I tapped the red, swollen scar and winced. He grunted, so I changed the subject. "Thought you had to be in court. Won't they be looking for you?"
"That's a moot point now, considering you're AWOL. The ADA called for you to testify to the grand jury ahead of schedule. Odd that he moved..."
I leaned out of the bathroom, zipping the black skinny pants, and noted Sam's distant stare. That empty feeling filled my stomach. "When I played poker with Marines, we called that a 'tell.' How well do you know this assistant district attorney?"
"Obviously not well enough." He scoffed. "Probably just my paranoia."
"We can start a club." I pulled Malta's black sweater over the lacy bra from Sam. "I've been thinking about what Troy said, about daddy not coming to save you. Maybe that was code for your boss. He could be the mole."
Sam snorted. "You don't know my boss."
"Maybe you don't either. When you told James this was bad, you meant it went deep. Cops, Feds. Now an Assistant District Attorney. Keeping me in the dark isn't productive anymore, Sam. I can be more helpful to both of us if I know who my enemy is."
"You know enough already." He avoided eye contact. So I stepped to his side, a hand on his arm, waiting for him to take me seriously for once.
"I can handle the truth, Sam. What I can't handle is being a team of one. At least not while we're still together."
His jaw slid back and forth as his hand jingled something in his coat pocket. "This case," he said, his nose flaring as he drew in a quick breath. "This isn't just a couple of cops gone rogue. It's big, Jules, organized. And no, I don't want you to know the details, because you still have a shot at getting free. They would torture you if they thought you knew more. Rape you, cut you, beat you, electrocute you. And then they'd begin to really hurt you."
"So Troy, the bomb, the sniper—that was all just foreplay."
"No, they mean business. We just keep getting lucky. And that's why you need to disappear for good. Without the recording."
I sucked in my lower lip.
"We'll call from the road to make sure Howard dumps everything. And I mean everything this time, Jules."
I nodded, relieved he wasn't more angry over my making a copy, not to mention erasing his version. Maybe he didn't know his device was blank yet. And maybe I wouldn't choose to mention that now, not till I knew Howard had safely turned over the evidence to Houston.
He withdrew his hand from his pocket and over his tanned wrist he clasped the gold bracelet I'd seen him wearing at the hotel bar. When he noticed my quizzical look at the bracelet, he turned the metal plate so I could read the inscribed word: trust. Besides his ex-wife Cameron, I'd no idea who he'd loved or who had loved him back.
"A present," he said solemnly, "from my niece."
"Thought you didn't have any family."
"I don't." He rolled the bracelet a few times. "My sister's kid. Sweet as they come, my little niece. They went to see where Daddy worked. Tower Two. A big climb up when you come from a family like mine." He swallowed and his smile faded. "The rest is in your photos."
He pulled free, peeked through the window. Opening the door a sliver, he pointed Max into the crisp night air. My mind reeled over the thought of his niece being pulled out of the same ashes I'd photographed. But this was no time for sentiment, Sam was saying. At a moment when I wanted to soothe the rough edges of his heart, he didn't need nor want my caretaking. Maybe I could learn something from Sam about moving forward in life.
"Stay here." He flipped open a utility knife and crossed to the landing, knelt and cut invisible lines every few steps. Lines high enough that Max could slip under, low enough to cause any human to dive face-first into the railing.
I shook my head. "Thank God another guest didn't fall and break their neck."
"What guests? Told them I was inspecting the rat problem, so everyone left."
I didn't have time to balk, as Sam ushered me downstairs into the night. With a small flashlight he checked the truck's belly for plants or bombs, then loaded up our caravan, still unwilling to let me drive.
From my bra I pulled the photo of Sam and James, their boyish smiles reaching through the years, brightening the moment. I punched on the overhead light.
One glance at the image and Sam's face lit up. "That was a good day," he said, taking the photo and thumbing the edge.
"Family matters, Sam. When you're lucky enough to have any left."
A sparkle returned to his eyes, whether in honor of the memory of his days with James or in appreciation for the sentiment from me, then he nodded and slid the photo into his breast pocket.
Before we buckled up, his long arm reached to the back seat, wrenched his duffel bag onto the middle console.
"Bought you something too," he said, withdrawing a white plastic bag. "Happy birthday."
"Today's not my birthday."
"Well, it certainly was mine." He grinned and shook the bag.
"Very funny, tough guy." I snatched the gift. "Probably a box of condoms, knowing you."
Wrapped in tissue was the photo box from the airport store. My mind stilled. Under the cab light, I studied the images encircling the box, all of them familiar: a World War II sailor kissing a nurse on V-day; Clarke Gable dipping feisty Scarlett in Gone with the Wind; Burt Lancaster reclining in the sand under Deborah Kerr; and "The Kiss by the Hôtel de Ville" by French photographer Robert Doisneau.
Sam leaned across the console and pointed to the sailor. "That was our first kiss at your apartment." He turned the box in my hand to Scarlett bent backwards by Rhett. "And that was the one in the storage room of the bar. I was pissed, too, buddy," he said jokingly to Clark Gable.
Turning the box to the image of Deborah on top of Burt, I said, "That was upstairs. My turn."
"We're not complaining, are we, Burt?"
The final image was of two young lovers kissing on a misty Parisian street in 1950. I'd loved the photo, until I studied the masters of photography in college and learned the scene was staged. Love could look so real, then be gone in a flash.
Sam peered over my arm, his face twisting as he examined the image. "That's the 'have a nice day, dear' kiss. Guess I'll have to wait to know what that feels like." He flashed a grin and tripped the engine, and I wondered which kisses in life Sam was remembering, which ones had disappointed him, which ones inspired.
Then I read the quote on the box lid:
The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because the kiss already has within it that surrender.
Emil Ludwig
Sam looked into the rearview mirror. "She's smiling, Max." He nodded to the box. "We have a name for that in my business."
I stared at him, blank-faced.
"Trouble." He winked, and I understood. Emotional vulnerability for an undercover agent could mean death to his career, if not himself.
As we rolled onto the road, I noticed the iPod at the bottom of Sam's duffel bag and remembered how his voice between Coldplay songs had been my lifeline. I held the iPod to my chest, laughing at the crazy risks he'd taken, and remembering the eggs dripping from his face when Daniels and Stone had slammed him into the breakfast cart.
"Couldn't leave any evidence behind," said Sam, referring my leaving the iPod hooked into hotel bar's stereo system. I'd set the unit to replay one song, but had anyone forwarded to the rest of the album they would have heard Sam's secret message and we would all be in deeper trouble. "Wish you'd hear my message sooner," he added. "Would've saved us both some heartache."
"Doesn't matter. You were there for me. Obviously, I didn't return the favor." Guilt weighed not heavily enough on my mind, but Sam shrugged off my remark.
Deeper in his bag I found more bottles of water, energy bars, a change of clothes from James, dress shoes. My nosiness paid off when I discovered the prescription bottle.
"Sam, I thought you finished your antibiotics."
"They pumped me full of them at the hospital. Those must be the first round from the clinic." He punched out the light and sped toward the interstate. "Let's lay low. No lights."
Tipping the bottle, I stole a pill, grabbed a water bottle, and swallowed the dose.
Sam punched the light back on. "What the hell was that?"
When I didn't answer, he leaned across the cabin and jerked up my sweater.
"Let me see it. Right now." He shoved his palm into my gut and I yelped. When he felt the heat and swelling of my abdomen, he looked at me sideways and punched off the light. "She never lies, Max."