Deadly Force (17 page)

By second grade, her mother had been investigated by the state, but Bianca was still living with her, taking her abuse. Teachers, the principal, the social workers—people who were supposed to care about her and protect her—left her with her monster of a mother. Bianca ended up in the hospital twice, once with a broken arm and once with a mild head concussion.

She found refuge in books and gobbled up the school’s library in no time. She earned perfect scores in all her classes, thanks to her memory, and at the end of the year, her teacher recommended she be tested for the gifted program. Bianca’s mother refused to sign the permission slip, so Bianca forged her signature. She’d already learned how to perfectly replicate her mother’s sloppy handwriting.

There was one other student in the principal’s office that day. Callan Reese. A boy whose father wore suits to school events and coached little league in the summers. Cal seemed to be lacking a mother, but he didn’t seem to care. Bianca wished she could give him hers.

He said nothing to her before or after the test, but something passed between them. A grudging respect that they were both unique on some level. In the hallway, when Marcia Linkletter shoved Bianca away from the water fountain, Cal told Marcia to knock it off.

That day, Cal invited Bianca to play dodge ball on his team. She hated dodge ball, but she was good at it. She could analyze the players and she knew how to move quickly to avoid getting hit. Cal’s invitation was the first she’d ever had, so she threw her shoulders back, walked over, and played her heart out.

She won the game for them by sheer determination, earning another solid stare from Cal that told her she’d upped her status with him once more. Later, when they met in the principal’s office to receive their testing results, Cal punched her in the arm, a type of congratulatory high-five. But Bianca froze and then ran off, embarrassed. Cal caught up with her after school and apologized. His father had told him never to strike a girl, and he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

His sincerity killed her, but she tried to laugh it off, refusing to tell him the real reason she’d ran away from the physical contact. Her laughter turned to tears, and then anger at herself for crying. Cal didn’t seem to care. He started walking her home every day—they only lived a block away from each other, yet it felt to Bianca as if they lived on completely different planets. Her with her crazy mother, and Cal with his handsome, caring father.

And then he saved her from the school ground bully, and the deal was sealed. That day on their way home, she told him everything.

The next day at recess, he taught her how to block her mother’s punches. How to bend her arm back and let her know Bianca was done cowering. How to dodge her kicks. His father had a black belt in karate and had taught Cal a few moves.

Seeing Cal now, knowing he was suffering but refusing to talk about it, reminded her of herself back then. If only she had a black belt in fighting his mental demons so she could fend them off for him. Protect him like he’d always done for her.

Reaching Cal on an emotional level was equivalent to running into a brick wall. Logic, her best friend, might work, though. “Talking about Warfighter might serve two purposes.” He was still standing in front of her, seemingly reluctant to let her go. She ran her fingers down his arm. “One, I might be able to tie Senator Halston to the disastrous outcome which has put us both in this situation, and two, you might feel better.”

He shifted his focus to the night outside the window. “I need to move the car. Can you get Maggie some water and check the pantry? See if there’s anything she can eat.”

Brick wall, we meet again
.

Fine. She could be bullheaded too. “We
are
going to talk about it at some point, Callan Reese. I saw the gun on the boat.”

“The gun?”

“The one with a single bullet.” She paused, gathering her mental shields. “Were you really contemplating suicide?”

He made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat, looked away. “It crossed my mind, but I would never do that. Not to you.”

An image of her mother’s face flashed through her mind. The gun she’d held in her hand. Bianca shut down the images. “Tell me what happened in Afghanistan.”

He shook his head and patted her cheek. “We
are
going to have a detailed conversation about a few things. You’re going to tell me what was on your phone, and I’m going to tell you a few things Tephra said at the house that don’t make sense.”

“You
talked
to him?”

Cal headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The door shut. Maggie, lying in front of the fireplace hearth, raised her head, giving the door a curious look. Bianca patted her leg to call the dog as she walked to the kitchen. “Let’s find you something to eat.”

The dog bounded up, wagging her tail.

A few minutes later, Maggie had dined on a can of beef stew and a bowl of water. Cal returned from moving the car with an armful of wood for the fireplace. Dirt was smudged on his cheek and he had a leaf stuck in his hair.

He unloaded the wood, opened the flue, and knelt to build a fire. Maggie stretched out next to him and closed her eyes. Bianca watched his sure movements as he placed the wood just so and balled up a newspaper from the stack nearby to use as tinder. Her heart pinched at the normalcy, the hominess of the scene.

She picked the leaf from his hair and he glanced up. His dark eyes were serious like always, but behind them, she saw the intelligence and magnetism that had drawn her in since the first day they’d met in the principal’s office.

And behind that, she saw the truth—they weren’t making it out of this alive.

That wasn’t going to stop him from trying. She could see that in his gaze as well. The same confidence she saw in his movements as he built a fire reflected back to her. That and the fact he was still attracted to her after all these years.

That they’d been through a hell of a day—that she’d brought this all on him—didn’t seem to dampen his libido.

It hadn’t dampened hers either. Especially when he looked at her like that.

“I thought I was going to die in that house,” she said, twirling the stem of the leaf between her fingers. “And then, after I made it out and I was sitting in the car waiting for you, I was terrified
you
were going to die.”

He struck a match and set the kindling on fire. Once the wood caught, he took the leaf from her hand and tossed it into the flames. He reached up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into his lap.

“I never should have left you.”

“At the house?”

“After the babies.”

Her heart constricted. “Cal, I pushed you away. Both times. You know me. I suck at handling emotions. I hate showing them, can’t share them like normal people. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have stayed anyway. No one should have to go through what you did alone. That first baby, and then your mother…died…”

“Sshh.” She placed a finger against his lips. Even now, she couldn’t go there. Couldn’t talk about it. “I survived, and you found your true calling by entering the Navy.”

For long seconds he stared at her. His lips kissed her finger. “I can’t make up for the past, but I’m here now.”

A small fissure opened in her heart. God, she loved this man. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His hands covered her face, smoothing her hair back. He showered her with kisses. They were soft but urgent, as if he were turned on and relieved at the same time. Happy she was there.

Her arms went around his neck and she ran her hands through his hair. Heat from the fire warmed her side; Cal’s ardent ministrations heating the rest of her.

He massaged her neck and back, bringing his hands around to cup her breasts through the cotton fabric. A moan escaped her lips and she arched into him. This could not be happening—
should
not be happening—but her body responded the way it always did. Everything inside her wanted him and wanted him bad.

She kissed him back hungrily, moving her hands under his shirt and filling them with the solidness of his pecs and abs. In seconds, both of them were shirtless and Bianca knew there was no turning back now. No stopping.

This was wrong. Totally wrong. She’d filed for divorce. She was a walking time bomb. Sleeping with Cal after all these months—three months and sixteen days, to be exact—would not solve their problems. It would not resurrect their marriage, only make the final outcome more emotional.

Stop this insanity before he breaks your heart all over again
.

But then Cal murmured against the skin of her neck, “You’re not going to die, B. Whatever happens, you have to live.” He licked her bottom lip, his gaze locking on hers. “For me.”

Game over.

She wrapped her legs around him, ground her pelvis against the hard length of him. He tweaked one of her nipples—where had her bra gone?—and she nearly orgasmed right there.

“I need you inside me. Now,” she heard herself say, and Cal, bless his Cro-Magnon heart, wasn’t about to turn her down.

In one slick move, his strong arms lifted her from the floor and tumbled her onto the nearby couch. She helped him remove her pants, but he didn’t remove his. Instead he put his hands on the insides of her knees and spread her legs. Wide.

Goose bumps raced over her skin and her stomach clenched, knowing what he was about to do even before he lowered his head. Skilled fingers massaged her thighs, one finger slipping under the silk of her underwear.

She sucked in her breath at the contact. Wetting the tip of his finger, he slid it against her tingling skin. “God, you’re so wet.”

He murmured against the silk of her panties, his warm breath heating her skin right through the fabric. “So goddamn ready.”

Sliding the panties aside, his fingers began a slow perusal, finding the exact spot to make her gasp again. He raised his head and looked at her, heat and lust clearly in his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face. One finger parted her folds, and then it, and a second, slipped inside.

She bucked her hips, clawing at the dust cover. He worked her for a moment with his fingers, going deep, drawing them out, then going deep again.

When she could barely stand it, he went to work with his thumb on her nub, starting a rhythm she met with gusto. The combination of his thumb outside and his fingers inside had her moving fast and hard against his hand.

It wasn’t enough. She needed more. “Please, Cal,” she whispered. “Please…”

His smile broadened. He moved aside her underwear with his free hand and lowered his lips to the spot where his thumb had been, his fingers working their magic from the inside.

He licked her with his tongue, then sucked gently, pressing up with those wicked fingers. At her whimper, he sucked harder and Bianca’s vision went white.

She exploded, back arching off the couch and in the process, shoving Cal’s fingers even deeper. How that was possible, she didn’t know or care. Her hands clenched the dust cover and she cried out as he sucked her through the orgasm, extending it until she nearly passed out from the pleasure.

Once it was over, he climbed up next to her on the couch and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking from head to toe, all her limbs doing a trembling, joyful dance.

Bliss
. Lying in Cal’s arms like this was pure bliss. She’d been fooling herself filing for divorce. Cal was an addiction she would never be free of, no matter what some paper said. Never wanted to be free, no matter what her logical brain told her.

The entire day had been surreal.
If only
…

Bianca shut down the thought. She’d lived her life with
if only
s and look where that had gotten her.

Instead, she blanked her mind and soaked up the feel of Cal’s arms, floating for as long as she could. Her head lay on his chest, his heartbeat, stable and resilient beating under her ear.

After a moment, she realized there was a firm bulge in his pants. She reached for it, cupping him.

“It’s after midnight, and I’ve been driving for hours.” His voice was low and quiet, almost ragged. “I could use some sleep.”

His rejection twinged in her stomach, but he didn’t pull her hand away. He was trying to give her an out, let her know it was okay if she didn’t want to follow through.

She rubbed him through his jeans. “You’ll sleep better once I’m done with you.”

She undid his belt, lowered his zipper. He laid his head back, closed his eyes. “You don’t want to do that, B.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll hate yourself enough as it is come morning.”

Probably.
“My days are numbered. I might as well have fun.”

She started to slip her hand inside his pants, but he stayed it with his own. “Tephra told me he doesn’t want to kill you. He only wants to talk.”

I just want to talk, sweetheart. I have something important to tell you…

She’d replayed Tephra’s words over and over in her mind as they’d flown up the interstate.

Cal opened his eyes and raised his head. His fingers touched her bandaged cheek. “He said if he’d wanted you dead, he wouldn’t have missed the shot on the boat.”