Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (25 page)

“Try to relax your shoulders.”

She sagged like someone cut her strings.

He hid a smile. “Nervous?”

“As a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“That’s it.” He adjusted her grip so her skin didn’t get shredded on the slide, or get in the way of the spent case ejecting. “Now move your finger onto the trigger and aim at the target. Squeeze slowly.”

She started tightening her finger on the trigger, her arms shaking so much he feared she was going to drop the gun. Not a good option.

“Nothing is happening,” she gritted out.

“Relax,” he repeated. He stepped up behind her and supported her left arm with his just to keep her steady. Her scent whispered with a hint of lavender soap that his mother had put out for them. He wished she’d stuck to Ivory, because right now he wanted to inhale Vivi. To lean closer. Taste her.

Not the time or the place to be thinking about anything but guns and bullets and the reality of their situation. They were together through necessity, not choice.

But did that mean they couldn’t enjoy the quiet moments?

He supported her arm so she stopped shaking. Spoke loudly so she could hear him over the ear muffs. “The Glock 21 has a five and a half pound trigger.” He kept his voice and expression stern so she wouldn’t misread the situation as anything but a practical lesson in survival. The gun went off, and he steadied her stance again. “You just need to get a feel for it.” She squeezed again, and this time the gun fired much more easily. She hit center target with the last two shots. Then she fired the rest of the thirteen rounds and never missed the target once. A natural. Figured. Women were often the better shots. When she was finished she grinned at him, looking a hell of a lot like her son.

She handed him the weapon with a sigh of relief, their faces only inches apart.

Being a brunette didn’t decrease her appeal one bit. Wearing not a speck of make-up just made her look younger and fresher. She had freckles on her nose and full pink lips. Pretty lips. Damn she looked like a schoolgirl rather than a grown woman. But there was something in her eyes. Not just sadness. Not just fear. Not even just the flicker of attraction they were both fighting. Wisdom? Courage? That core of inner strength and intelligence that shone through her gaze? Whatever it was, she affected him differently than any woman he’d met since Mia.

Christ
.

Good thing Liam couldn’t see him now. When his brother had come over last night, Liam had told him to watch his back and maintain his objectivity.

Sure. No problem.

He cleared his throat. “How did you like that one?”

She grimaced. He checked the weapon was empty, and they repeated the lesson with the SW1911 and he taught her how to load it.

“I think I like this one better.” She tried the grip in both hands, adjusting her fingers to find the best position. She’d hit the target repeatedly, dead center.

“The Glock packs a bit of a punch. At least now you know what to expect if you have to fire one…”

Her exhilaration seemed to evaporate as if she’d recalled why they were having shooting lessons. He touched her shoulder. “Hey, this is a last resort. They shouldn’t find us here, but if they do, we need to be ready.”

“I understand. I do. It just doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

Because shooting a target was one thing. Putting a bullet in another human being was something else entirely. He picked up the shotgun and cracked it open. He showed her how to load it, where the safety was. Then he positioned her in front of a different target, this one further away. He moved behind her and wedged the butt of the shotgun into her shoulder. “Line up the sights like before. The shot scatters so it should be easier to hit something—anything—even at a distance.”

She cradled the shotgun and he stood behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. She aimed the gun and settled into the calm of the woods. The sky was a soft, bruised purple that promised more snow. She gently squeezed the trigger, and even the trees seemed to shake with the boom. She took a step back, but didn’t fall. He rested his hands against her back. He liked putting his hands on her. He wasn’t even thinking about sex—OK,
now
he was thinking about sex, but generally he just liked touching her. After a few seconds she drew in a deep breath and then raised the gun back to her shoulder. She fired a second time, and this time her stance didn’t waver.

She lowered the twelve gauge, and he caught it up in his hands, checked that the barrels were empty. They both removed their ear protection and stood staring at one another, their breath misting in the subzero temps. “You did great.”

“Thanks.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but hesitated.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

Warily, he said, “Go on.”

A shadow moved across her eyes. “Is it easy to kill someone?”

Not what he was expecting. The memory of him slitting the guy’s throat in the mall rushed over him. It wasn’t pretty, but he didn’t have any regrets. “Easy? No. Not hard either when the person is trying to kill innocent civilians.” He began putting the pistols and ammunition in a small backpack his father had left.

A hand touched his arm. “I’m not judging you. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to do it if I have to.”

He turned and took her cold fingers in his and rubbed some warmth into them. She was freezing, but hadn’t complained once. He enclosed her hands in his and blew on them.

“Shooting someone from a distance is easier than killing someone in hand-to-hand combat, but I don’t recommend either except in extraordinary circumstances.” He let her go and concentrated on getting the ammo packed up.

“You’re a profiler, right? You spend most of your time in your office and yet you overpowered that man using only a knife? He was massive.”

The guy had been slow and stupid and full of blood lust which had left him wide open. “I’m a federal agent who works at the Behavioral Analysis Unit—there’s no such job as a profiler. I was in the Army for a few years, and I’m trained in combat. I do a lot of martial arts to keep fit,”
to keep sane
, “and I had a hell of an incentive to take out that guy in the mall.” One side of his mouth kicked up. “My boss wishes I spent all my time in the office, because I have a habit of getting too involved in cases.” Obviously his boss was right.

Her eyes flashed with surprise, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

“Not with women, Vivi. Just with catching the bad guys.” He hardened his tone. This was a good time to make sure she didn’t think he was going to make a serious pass at her, even though he’d kissed her, and it was obvious he found her attractive. He wanted her to relax and trust him on every level, but it was hard with this unsettling energy swirling between them. “I don’t get personally involved with women on cases. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea because I made a mistake and kissed you.”

So many thoughts flitted over her features, he couldn’t read her. Probably a good thing.

“So, to answer your question, some people find it easy to kill. Others enjoy it. If they didn’t, I’d be chasing bank robbers through city streets. Even though I’ve had to take a life on more than one occasion, I don’t enjoy it.” He let some of his experience into his eyes. “I can’t tell you if you’ll be able to kill someone if it comes down to it, not even in self-defense. There are plenty of cases where men faced with imminent death during combat have refused to fire a shot.” He held her lightly by the elbows. “It doesn’t make them weak or cowards, it just makes them human. I
do
think you will do whatever it takes to protect Michael, even if that means shooting someone until they are dead.”

She flinched but squared her shoulders. That fierce maternal passion that he’d seen in her right from the start blazed through.

“I would do anything to protect my child.” She grabbed a handful of his vest and pulled him closer, surprising the hell out of him. “But what I hadn’t realized before now is I’d do it to protect you too. And you need to know that.” Her eyes narrowed. “You need to be able to trust me to have your back the same way I need to trust you.”

Christ
. He’d told her he didn’t get involved with women on a case, and she told him she’d kill for him.

One of them was lying, and he didn’t think it was Vivi.

Guilt ate at him, along with the relentless pull of temptation.

Something rustled in the bushes, and she whirled around and backed into him.

“It’s just a squirrel,” he reassured her. When she turned around with a self-deprecating laugh, she was right next to him, and despite everything he’d said, he wanted to kiss her. Her lips parted, and she stared up at him with an expression that surely mirrored his. She wanted him, but knew they shouldn’t.

Then he was kissing her, and she leaned into him, grabbing the collar of his vest to pull him closer. She licked inside his mouth, and a furnace exploded inside him. He backed her up a few paces to the shelter they’d built years ago. Hunger filled him, and even though he didn’t release her mouth, his hand was pulling her shirt from her jeans, his hand cupping her breast, finding her nipple a taut, firm pebble against his palm.

How did she do this to him? Reduce him to nothing but want.

Her hands touched his bare skin as they burrowed beneath the layers he wore, they were cold but felt amazing against his too hot flesh. His fingers slipped inside the stretchy waistband of her jeans, and she opened her legs, allowing him access to her slick, hidden folds.

His limbs shook. This was a bad idea, but his fingers eased inside her anyway. She gasped, but didn’t let go of his mouth. Instead she put her hands on his zipper and stroked him through his jeans until he thought he’d burst.

He drove his fingers into her, keeping a rhythm that made her writhe against him and lose her ability to do anything except react—and God help him he liked that. He liked giving her pleasure. His thumb found her clit and then he pressed his palm hard against the throbbing nub of flesh. He drove deeper, wishing it wasn’t so damn cold, and he could strip her naked right here in the woods.

She stiffened against him and shuddered, inner muscles clenching and spasming against his hand. He drew back to see her expression, but her eyes were closed, lips rosy from his kisses. She clutched his jacket, holding on as if she’d fall over if she let go.

Goddamn it.
What the hell was wrong with him?

He withdrew his hand and tucked in her shirt. She opened her eyes, which looked so dazed with passion he almost wept. “Jesus, you make me stupid.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry…” Vivi quickly scanned his face. The uncertainty on hers reminded him her ex had done a real number on her, and he probably wasn’t helping.

“It isn’t your fault; stupid comes naturally.” He clamped down hard on the need to apologize. His body ached and his blood ran hot, wanting to finish what it had started. Because he was a guy, and an asshole to boot. But what he really wanted was to be a good FBI agent.

And he was failing.

He needed to unlock the secrets in Michael’s mind before the bad guys found them, because they couldn’t stay here forever. And the longer they were here, the greater the chance of him fucking up and making this even more personal—as if her coming around his fingers wasn’t personal enough?
Shit
. His body begged him to forget the rules, but he didn’t think he could live with himself if he compromised this situation.

Isn’t it already compromised?

It was messed up, that was for damn sure. He turned away, unwilling to let her see his conflicted emotions, unwilling to let her see the fact he wanted to yank down her panties and do her against the nearest tree. Yeah, great work Special Agent Brennan, go polish your badge and prepare a report on that.

“We better get back,” he said instead.

***

After their target practice that morning, they’d shared hot chocolate with his parents, Jed trying to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line and wasn’t furious with himself for losing control.

The three of them had snowshoed back to the cabin via the woods, and his dad had dropped the SUV off later. The walk in the quiet of the forest with Vivi and Michael had finally cooled his brain, forced him to relax. Almost like a real vacation. It was obvious his parents liked Vivi and Michael, which added a whole surreal aspect to this fake relationship. It was going much better than any of his real ones ever had.

Now they were back at the cabin. The fire roaring. Radio playing softly in the background.

Vivi had made soup for lunch, and he’d had to force any regrets from his head. He needed to focus all his faculties on keeping them safe and getting Michael to start drawing again.

She sat with her feet on the couch, pretending to read a novel. All very relaxed, except the air between them crackled with ever increasing sexual awareness, and killers were out there somewhere, trying to hunt them down.

He rubbed the back of his neck. None of this was easing his tension.

They needed a break in the case. He was betting that once Michael finally felt safe and secure, he’d turn to his go-to method of mentally dealing with things. Vivi said that was drawing.

He didn’t know the status of the investigation and that irked him. Killion and Frazer would probably both call later, though he couldn’t afford to act too interested, even though he was interested as hell.

Jed grabbed a mirror from the bedroom and set it up on the dining table. He took one of the sketch pads he’d bought for Michael, picked up a pencil, and started sketching his reflection in the mirror. He’d taken art throughout high school because band conflicted with his football schedule. Ironically he’d turned out to be pretty good at it. He scratched his chin. He needed a shave, but never usually bothered when he came home. Still, he looked like a Neanderthal. His gaze glanced off Vivi.

He angled the mirror and started putting in pencil lines where the eyes, nose, lips would be, his too wide forehead. Where had those lines between his brows come from? He stared hard at the man he saw in the mirror. There were shadows under his eyes, evidence of too many sleepless nights and guilt-ridden insomnia, lending an age to his face he hadn’t noticed before.