Carla Neggers - Abandon

She tried to sit up and at least help, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She was quivering, aching. He had no trouble managing on his own, tossing his clothes onto the floor with hers, then coming to her, letting her cup his firm bottom and smooth her hands up his hips and along his back, every inch of him warm and hard. She reached between them, but he lifted himself up, then filled her with such suddenness and ferocity she cried out.

But he didn’t stop, and she didn’t want him to. He plunged impossibly deep into her, stretching her, filling her with a kind of sweet agony she’d never known, and when he thrust again, he went deeper yet. All his confidence and drive made her want him even more. She grabbed his hips, felt her fingers dig in, and held him still, just for a moment. Their eyes locked, and he gazed down at their joined bodies, then looked back at her again, mouthed her name as he drove into her, faster and faster, taking her breath away.

She came in waves, feeling her release down to her toes, but he wasn’t finished. She threw her arms over her head and let herself feel nothing but each quick, hard thrust, until he moaned, grunting as he exploded into her.

Finally spent, he rolled onto his back next to her. A stiff breeze blew over them, and she could feel her pulse racing, although her body was relaxed and loose from their lovemaking.

“I hope we didn’t disturb the neighbors,” she said, still a little breathless.

He eased onto his side and smiled at her. “We?”

“I don’t know, Rook. You break all my rules. You’re in law enforcement, you’re a total hard-ass, you’re a city guy -”

“My brothers and I hike all the time.” He traced a finger along her upper arm. “What kind of man do you want?”

She grinned at him. “One who’s handy.”

“After the past hour I’d say I’m pretty damn handy.”

“Touché.”

“Not as humorless as you thought, am I?”

“You’re full of surprises, I’ll say that.” Mackenzie felt a rush of heat, remembering the feel of him inside her. “I meant, do you know how to use a hammer? Can you build things?”

“I’ve done most of the work so far on this place.”

“It’s nice,” she said, her energy suddenly starting to fade. “You’ve done a good job. I like the skylights.”

“There’s more work to do.”

“I’ve never owned my own house. I’ve always rented.” She caught his hand in hers, looked him in the eye. “We were doing fine. A couple of nice dates, enjoying each other’s company. Then you dump me.”

“And you flew to New Hampshire to lick your wounds and got into a knife fight.” He locked his fingers with hers and drew closer to her. “I don’t claim to know what the hell’s going on, but if you’d stayed here last weekend things would have been different.”

She rose up slightly, feeling a tug of pain in her side, a reminder that she wasn’t fully healed. “If I’d stayed, we wouldn’t have a description of Harris’s killer.”

“His likely killer.”

“I know. ‘Be led by facts, not speculation.’” She dropped back onto the pillow. “My brain’s not working anymore. It’s fried.”

He kissed her on the mouth, the nose, the forehead. “Sleep,” he whispered. But she touched his side, ran her fingertips along the muscles of his abdomen, and, impossibly, felt a renewed spark.

“Mac…”

She climbed onto him, felt the heat and hardness of him. It was dark now, and the breeze felt cool on her skin. “I don’t need to think,” she said as he reached for her breasts, cupping them as she rose up, then lowered herself onto him.

They made love slowly, thoroughly, pushing off any doubts and questions for another time.

Jesse shivered in the cold, early morning mountain air and crept across the bare rock to Cal, who hadn’t moved much in the past three hours. They’d made camp amid a cluster of granite boulders well off the main trails in the hills above Bernadette Peacham’s lake house. No tent or sleeping bags, just a couple of emergency blankets that packed up to the size of a deck of cards.

“Morning, Cal.”

Jesse pulled the gag from Cal’s mouth, not that Cal showed any gratitude. He coughed and spat. “You sadistic bastard. I could have died.”

“Died of what?”

“Thirst, choking on my own spit – I could hardly breathe.” He hacked some more, turning red. “Bastard.”

“If you were in danger of dying, I’d have woken up.” Jesse calmly cut the ropes on his captive’s hands and feet. “Give yourself a couple minutes for the circulation to return.”

He’d had three hours sleep himself, max. He’d picked up Cal yesterday after his little tête-à-tête with Mackenzie Stewart and took him out to the airport, stuffing him in his plane and debating whether just to shove him out over the Atlantic. For years to come, people could wonder whatever happened to Calvin Benton, Judge Peacham’s ex-husband.

Instead, Jesse fed and watered the turncoat and flew him up to New Hampshire, then dragged him into the hills. Clearly, nothing about the White Mountains calmed or rejuvenated Cal. He’d gone silent, tight and tense, obviously plotting his way out of the mess he was in.

The mountains had focused Jesse’s mind. Dragging Cal up there overnight maybe hadn’t been the greatest idea, but leaving him in Washington to cut his own deal with the FBI, or whatever, wasn’t an option. Now that Deputy Mackenzie and her FBI guy had found Harris, the police and the media were all over his death. She and Rook weren’t identified in media reports, but Jesse knew it had been them. They’d found the rooming house. Was it because of Bernadette Peacham? Her friendship with Harris?

Doesn’t matter.

Of course, the reporters were all saying Harris was murdered. Jesse considered what he’d done that night was self-defense at its most elemental and pure.

Cal slowly rubbed his wrists and ankles where the rope had cut deep into his fair skin. “I will die, anyway, won’t I?” His tone was surprisingly matter-of-fact. “Sooner or later, I’ll pay for my sins.”

“We all pay for our sins.”

With the passage of the cold front yesterday, the air was downright chilly. Jesse could have slept for hours, if not for Cal gagged and bound a few feet from him. Awake, Jesse had his assault knife to keep his prisoner in line. Asleep, he needed Cal quiet and immobile.

“Oh, God.” Cal abruptly rolled onto the knees and vomited into the dirt, moaning as he finished up and sat back on his heels, his face ashen. “Damn you to hell, Jesse. Harris was right about you. You are the devil.”

“We had a good arrangement, Cal. You profited, Harris profited, I profited.”

“But for how long? You’d never take your million and go way. You’d be back for more. You wouldn’t be satisfied, and I’d get in deeper and deeper, until one day I found myself in the middle of a scandal, just like Harris.” Cal’s voice croaked, and he spat again. He looked haggard, his lips cracked dry from the gag. “I didn’t want to end up like him.”

Jesse thought of the way he’d left Harris at the rooming house. “That I can understand, but you should have come to me, talked to me. Treated me like an equal, a partner, instead of something you wanted to scrape off the bottom of your shoe.”

“I don’t have any intention of keeping one cent of your money. The rest is just to make sure you go away and never come back.”

Jesse opened up a plastic water bottle and handed it to Cal. “Don’t drink too fast. You’ll throw up again.”

“Do you think I care?” But he drank, water spilling down his chin like drool, and he didn’t stop until he’d drained the bottle. He tossed it aside, not bothering to wipe his mouth. “I wish I’d run you over on the street when I first met you.”