In the Arms of the Wind (30 page)

He caressed her wrist with his thumb. “I love you, Kace.”

“I love you too, Danny, but not so much that I’m going to clean the kitchen all by myself.”

He smiled. “Nag, nag, nag,” he said, but the shadows were still lurking in his smiling eyes and the lines at the corners of his mouth had deepened in the last few hours.

* * * * *

It was the lightning that woke her and she burrowed down into her pillow. She hated the cracks worse than she did the thunderous booms that followed. Moving over to cuddle close to Danny, she realized his side of the bed was empty.

“Danny?” she called out, sitting up as she fanned her hand over the sheet that was cool to the touch—signifying he had been gone long enough for his body heat to dissipate. “Danny?”

A piercing skirl of lightning split the sky and she jumped, hating the phobia that had taunted her since childhood. Flinging back the cover, she swung her legs from the bed and stuffed her feet into her slippers.

“Danny?”

She went into the great room but he wasn’t sitting in the recliner in front of the TV or lying on the sofa. He wasn’t in the kitchen or his office or the two spare bedrooms or baths. She went back into the bedroom to check the bathroom there but he wasn’t there either.

“Danny?” She was beginning to feel concern and rushed to the door, opened it, startling a fresh set of guards she didn’t know. “Did he come out of the apartment?”

“Mr. D.?” one of the men asked. “No ma’am. We haven’t seen him.”

“How long have you been on duty?” she asked, fear choking her.

“Since just before midnight, ma’am.”

Mentally calculating she and Danny hadn’t gone to bed until after Craig Ferguson’s show ended, she thanked the men and started to shut the door.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” the guard asked.

“I hope not,” she said then shut the door.

Another loud whip of lightning rent the air and rain pelted the apartment, drawing her attention to the French doors.

“Oh shit, you didn’t,” she said, and hurried to the doors, finding them unlocked. She pushed them open, instantly blinded by the intrusion of rain stinging her eyes. It was pitch black on the deck with the wind howling, the waves crashing far below and the ominous roll of thunder almost continuous.

“Danny!” she yelled above the storm, but the wind caught her voice and flung it away. Rain slammed against her, whipped her hair about her face. She dragged a sodden strand from her eyes. “Danny!”

Lightning flared at that moment and in the brief flash of light, she saw him lying curled up in the double Papasan chair. She stumbled through the harsh wind, fighting it every step of the way. By the time she reached the chair, her nightgown was soaked clean through.

“Danny?” she called out to him, her heart breaking at the sight of him lying there in a fetal position—as naked as the day he’d been born.

Terrified he had done something to harm himself, she reached for him with shaking hands but as soon as she touched him, he flinched.

“Thank God,” she said, tears mingling with the rain streaming down her face.

She pulled the nightgown from her body and curled up behind him, putting her arms around his cold body, pressing her face to the nape of his neck.

“I’m okay,” she thought she heard him say.

“When I’ve got a tough decision to make or I’m hurting I spend the night out here,”
he’d once told her.

“I’m here, baby,” she told him. “I’m here with you every step of the way.”

He moved so he could turn to face her, drawing her against him, lifting his head to slant his mouth across hers.

Despite what he had said earlier, they had not made love between Craig and the sleeping like rocks. It had been a mutual decision, she thought. But now he seemed filled with desperation and she gave herself over to him, for him to do with her as he wanted.

His hands were all over her, his fingers inside her. His mouth traced her rain-wet flesh, his lips suckled her breasts, his tongue slipped between her legs. He nipped the insides of her thighs then turned her so she was forced to all fours and nipped her on her rump. When she squirmed against that delicious attack, he dragged his tongue up her spine then took her from behind. He entered her in a single powerful thrust that made her womb clench with ecstasy and had her fearing the chair would break. He took her hard but he didn’t hurt her. He took her gently and rocked her world. He took her to heights she had yet to scale and made her love him even more. It surprised her just how agile her man could be in the restricted confines of that rattan chair and she wondered if she was the first to christen the chair.

When it was finished, when he had kissed her gently one last time, stroked her cheek once again, fanned his thumb over her bottom lip, he turned his back to her, pulled her arm around him and held on to her as the storm raged on.

Kaycee looked up uneasily at the lightning stitching across the heaving heavens and hoped it wouldn’t decide to skewer the two of them to the chair. As the rain pounded her flesh to numb it, she huddled as close to his back as she could get, buried her face against him and tried to block out her terror of the storm.

Chapter Thirteen

Danny flinched as the first volley of gunshots rang out over the cemetery. For a second he stiffened. After the third and final crack of the carbines, he lowered his head. There had been no tears for John Francis Barnes but there were regrets, sorrow and guilt—the punishments of a surviving partner. Beside him, Kaycee’s fingers were laced through his, her other hand wrapped around his biceps. Surrounding them was a sea of blue-clad warriors. It was the first time she’d seen him in his uniform.

For the next half hour or so the reception line wound before Amanda Mulroney Barnes and her sons Roddy and Mickey as they sat under the green funeral tent. Condolences were extended, hugs were given, smiles were forced, hands were gripped.

Danny was among the last to speak to Mandy and found words hard to say.

“I know,” she told him. “I know.”

“If you need anything…”

“Your family will be the first I call,” she assured him. “Are you coming to the dinner?”

“I’m not feeling well, Mandy,” he said. “I hope you understand.”

Barnes’ widow put her hand to his cheek. “Of course I do, Danny.”

Driving out of the cemetery in her car since Danny had not been up to driving his own, Kaycee looked over at him as he sat staring out the window.

“Mandy’s nice.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Did Jack leave her in good shape?”

He shrugged. “He had insurance but Johnny will see to her. She and the boys won’t lack for anything.”

She glanced at him. “Why would Johnny…”

“You got any Excedrin in your purse?” he interrupted her, putting a hand to his temple to rub. “I’ve got a bitching headache.”

“Yeah,” she said, and he reached into the backseat to retrieve her purse. She grinned as she watched him open it and rummage inside.

“Why do you women need so goddamned many napkins?” he asked, pushing the offending paper aside. “You’ve got enough napkins in here to plaster a fucking wall.”

“Try wiping yourself without toilet paper, tough guy,” she told him. “It’s not a pleasant feeling.”

“That’s what underwear is for,” he grumbled.

“What if you aren’t wearing underwear?” she countered, and he grunted. Since the attack, he had taken to wearing underwear and that bothered her a bit. There was significance to it but she didn’t think he was ready yet to tell her why—though she was fairly sure she had a good idea. She saw him pull out the Excedrin bottle and get irritated when he had trouble opening it.

“Fucking childproof bottles!” he snarled.

Every now and then since coming home from the hospital he’d exhibited peaks of anger that were not proportional to the cause. That too she knew was expected and she hoped it would pass quickly. His mood swings concerned her more than the irrational anger. For last two days, she’d find him staring out the window or doing something over that he had just done an hour before. The only good thing was he didn’t seem to be feeling sorry for himself. That was diminishing. The headaches, sour stomach and poor appetite had her worried as well as his lack of adequate sleep. She would be willing to bet he hadn’t slept eight hours in the last seventy-two. Thus far he had staunchly refused to see his Uncle Liam, the Monsignor, or an outside psychologist.

“I can handle it,” he’d stated, and his glare had made it clear the matter wasn’t going to be discussed.

He hissed as he pulled at the bottle cap. “I can’t get the fucking thing off, Kaycee!” he snarled. He threw the bottle back into her purse.

She flipped on the turn signal and pulled into a convenience store parking lot. She knew he would need something to wash down the caplets. When she’d parked, turned off the car, she reached for her purse, took out the bottle, uncapped it and shook out two caplets. “Here,” she said, handing them to him. “You want a 7-Up?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, taking the med.

As she left the vehicle, she saw him staring in the side mirror at the car that had followed them into the convenience store lot. She waved at the two bodyguards who waved back. When she brought the bottle of pop back to the car, Danny was still staring in the side mirror.

“I can damned well protect you,” he mumbled as he popped the caplets into his mouth, unscrewed the bottle then drained half of it in three gulps. He lowered the bottle, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and returned his glower to the mirror. “You don’t need them when I’m with you.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the bodyguards weren’t for her but for him. However, that didn’t seem like a good idea considering his frame of mind.

“I can protect you,” he said again then snapped his head toward her. “You know that, don’t you? You do, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said. She started to say something else but he was staring into the side mirror again.

“I am perfectly capable of protecting you myself!” he growled, and opened the car door.

“What are you doing?” she called out, but was afraid she knew. She twisted around in the seat to watch him stalking toward the car where the two bodyguards sat. She sighed and turned around to face the front again, clamping her hands around the steering wheel. When he came back, he slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.

“Let’s go!” he snapped.

She sighed again and cranked the car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, the dark sedan pulled out right behind them. “Is there anywhere you need to go before we go home?” she asked him.

He was back to staring in the side mirror and his left leg was jumping nervously. “No.” He began rubbing his thigh. “Goddamned bastards. I can protect you, Kaycee. I’m not a fucking wimp.”

“They’re only doing their job, Danny.” She reached over to cover his hand with hers, stilling the incessant rubbing.

“I can protect you,” he said.

“How’s your headache?” she asked.

“Okay,” he grumbled.

He said nothing until she pulled into his two-car garage at the condo. Before she turned off the engine he was out of her car and at the door of his. Her brows drew together as she got out and looked at him over the top of her car.

“Whatcha need, babe?” she asked as she watched him take off his suit coat, peel off his tie and toss both into the backseat. He was unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up the sleeves.

“I need you to get in the car,” he said, sliding behind the wheel of the BMW.

“Where are we going?” she asked, but he slammed his door and cranked the car, revving the engine. She glanced at the bodyguards who had parked in the visitor slot and shrugged. The blare of his horn startled her, causing her to jump. She gave him a sour look as she walked behind his car and to the passenger door. When she got in, she told him to never honk the horn at her again.

“Then don’t give me reason to!” he hissed, and popped the clutch. The sports car shot out of the garage and they were nearly to the security kiosk before the bodyguard car caught up with them.

She knew what he intended just as surely as she knew her own name. Buckling the seat belt around her, she said a silent prayer that no hapless motorist got in Danny Gallagher’s way while he tried to outrun the men following them.

“This is childish,” she said, tossing her purse into the backseat.

“I can protect you,” he said as he turned onto the Ocean Highway. He pulled right in front of a delivery van and she winced at the squeal of tires, praying they weren’t rear-ended.

At any other time she might have admired his driving ability as he rocketed like a madman down the highway. Weaving in and out of traffic as easily as running a hot knife through butter, he worked the stick shift with the expertise of a master racecar driver. It was her turn to keep watch in the side mirror, and it took all her self-control not to smile as the driver of the dark sedan kept two car lengths back no matter how fast or reckless Danny drove.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” Danny snarled as he zipped around two cars, cut across three lanes and down an exit ramp only to have the sedan follow suit.