Stop at Nothing (7 page)

But before she could move out of his hold, he grasped her nape and kept her from pulling away, his gaze searching hers intently, looking for…

What?

If it was anything akin to what Abby was looking for as she searched his, then she was in trouble. Serious trouble.

Because the longer she held his gaze, the more charged the air between them became and the harder her heart pounded. Her gaze dropped briefly to his lips, which was a mistake. God, those lips. She'd never forgotten their warmth, how they could be so tender one moment and harsh and demanding the next. And she longed to feel them against hers, just once more…

* * *

For a moment, Kyle thought he was still dreaming. Abby was in his arms, curled into his body as she'd been so many times before. And when she'd started to draw away, he'd impulsively grasped the nape of her neck, planning to steal a kiss and tempt her to stay in bed for another half hour or more, but as the sleep clouding his judgment faded, he hesitated, reality crashing back down on him, reminding him that she was no longer his.

Yet as he met her gaze and felt her pulse thundering against the back of his fingers as they skimmed along the curve of her throat, he dared to hope she still felt the same attraction, the same undeniable magnetism that had existed between them before.

His gaze dropped to her full pink lips, so soft and enticing. As he watched, they parted on a little gasp, and his eyes snapped back up to hers. “Abby,” he whispered, not sure what else to say, all the blood flow having abandoned his brain in favor of other, more insistent areas of his anatomy.

Then, to his astonishment, she leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his mouth. He was so taken aback that for a moment he didn't even react. But then his arms went around her, and he was rolling her onto her back, his lips devouring, his tongue slipping between her teeth to tangle with hers. And when her hand came up to grasp the back of his head, her fingers twined in his hair, a groan of need rumbled up from the center of his gut.

Dear God, kissing her was as incredible as he remembered. Check that. It was
better
than he remembered. It was mind-blowing bliss. And he wanted more,
needed
more.

He released her mouth to press kisses along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, pausing to lathe the hollow at the base of her neck with his tongue, eliciting a gasp. But before he could venture any lower, she was pulling his mouth back up to hers, kissing him hungrily, nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth, sucking on it gently in the way she knew drove him out of his mind.

His hand skimmed down her ribs, then slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. She gasped when his fingertips met her bare skin, breaking their kiss.

He pulled back just enough to peer down at her. “Should I stop?” he panted, the need that gripped him making it impossible to breathe. “Just say the word, Abby.”

A range of emotions played over her lovely features in an instant. “Kyle, I…” Her words trailed off, but she didn't look away, her gaze traveling over his face. He started to pull back, to back off and give her some space, but her arm was still around his neck and now tightened ever so slightly, keeping him from moving away. “I'm so sorry,” she told him softly, reaching up to brush the hair off his forehead. Her fingertips trailed down to his temple, along the curve of his jaw, and across his lips that still hovered so close to hers. “I never should have—”

A knock at Abby's front door startled them both. Kyle rolled away, lunging to his feet and holding a finger to his lips. Abby nodded and followed him down the hall, keeping close. Instead of approaching the front door, he crept into the sitting room and pulled back the blinds just enough to get a look at the driveway, sighing when he realized who it was.

He jerked his chin at Abby. “It's okay.”

Abby gave him one last questioning glance before opening the door. He saw her features immediately smooth in relief when she saw who it was. “Hi, Elle. You want to come inside for a cup of coffee?”

“Thanks,” he heard Elle reply. “But I can't stay.”

Kyle strolled in from the sitting room to stand beside Abby, offering a smile to Fairfield County's deputy prosecutor. She was in cutoff shorts, a form-fitting T-shirt, and running shoes. With her red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, she was even more gorgeous because of her disheveled appearance. No wonder his brother had his eye on her.

“Hey, Elle,” Kyle said, extending a hand. “Good to see you again.”

Elle glanced back and forth between him and Abby and tried unsuccessfully to smother a grin. “Hey, Kyle. Welcome home. Looks like I'm not the first to jump on the welcome wagon.” She cleared her throat. “So to speak.”

“Just helping Abby on a case,” Kyle assured her, glancing at Abby and suddenly noticing her kiss-swollen lips and the beard burn he'd left on her cheeks. Clearly his bullshit denial to Elle's unasked questions just made him and Abby look even guiltier.

But who cared? So what if Elle knew that he and Abby had been well on the way to—
What?
He had no frigging clue what would've happened if Elle hadn't arrived. Would he and Abby have ended up naked together, making love with the frenzied passion that had so often consumed them? Hell if he knew. But he sure as shit would like to give it another go later and see where a few more hot and heavy kisses took them…

Elle's smile broadened. “Uh-huh,” she said, laughter in her voice. She sent a none-to-subtle wink Abby's way, bringing an adorable flush to Abby's cheeks, then held up a piece of paper and wagged it at Kyle to take. “Here's your search warrant, lover boy. Joe's lucky I like him as much as I do, or I would've been very displeased to have my date interrupted last night. And can I just say how much Judge Pettigrew enjoyed me waking him up at seven this morning? Better make this one count.”

Kyle glanced over the warrant, then gave her a terse nod. “Thanks, Elle. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” she agreed. She hopped down the steps, but at the final stair, she turned back to add, “And the first thing you can do to pay me back is tell your brother Gabe he's a jackass.”

Kyle was taken aback by the sudden pronouncement. “Okaaaay,” he drawled, looking askance at her. “I'm not disagreeing. Trust me. But what'd he do to piss
you
off?”

She put her hands on her hips, and this time her smile held no mirth. “Let's just say that the next time he nearly blows one of my cases because he can't stay away from a key witness's girlfriend, he'll have to swallow to scratch his balls.”

Kyle's brows shot up.

Well, didn't that paint a picture?

He gave her a curt nod. “Jackass. Got it.”

Elle lifted a hand in a wave as she turned to go, calling over her shoulder, “Have fun, kids! Don't
work
too hard!”

Kyle turned to quip to Abby about his brother's jacked-up methods for getting the pretty prosecutor's attention but saw she'd already disappeared. He frowned as he shut and locked the front door. “Abby?”

“In here!”

He went into her study and saw she was already on the phone, her laptop up and running, fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard. She waved him in and motioned for him to hand over the search warrant.

Okay, then. Back to work.
Guess they'd talk about what had happened between them later. He handed Abby the search warrant and crossed his arms over his chest, staying out of her way as she hunched over her keyboard, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Unfortunately, not being able to have an active role in the investigation at that moment allowed his mind to wander back to what had happened in Abby's bedroom just a few moments before. He'd felt the longing in her kiss just as she'd no doubt felt his. And yet she'd said she was sorry for it. Check that. She'd actually said she was “so sorry.” What the hell had she been about to apologize for?

Oh yeah. He was definitely looking forward to that conversation later. They had a hell of a lot to discuss—that was for damned sure.

“Hi,” he heard her say into the Bluetooth device in her ear, mercifully calling him away from his current train of thought. “This is Deputy Abigail Morrow…”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Fielding greeted his pretty prisoner as he entered the little maintenance closet where he was keeping her. Emma Maxwell was stunning even with her hair matted with blood and her face covered in mascara smudges. He'd still do her. But he wasn't into forcing himself on a woman. He had scruples after all. And considering the look of fear and disgust she was giving him, he didn't feel a case of Stockholm syndrome coming on.

He'd originally kept her blindfolded, but that had made her scream like a fucking banshee, so he'd taken the blindfold off, deciding to risk her seeing his face in exchange for a little peace and quiet. Besides, he wasn't the kind of guy who stood out in a crowd. That's what made him so successful at his line of work. He blended in, becoming almost invisible in his ordinariness. Average height, average build, average looks, no distinguishing characteristics at all.

In twenty-five years he'd never once been ID'd. He sure as hell wasn't worried about some self-absorbed socialite being able to pick him out of a lineup—provided he was ever caught. But he wouldn't be. He was a master of the game. He'd never lost. Not once. And Emma Maxwell knew the score. She had proven to be a very compliant pawn. And she understood very well that, as a pawn, she was expendable—as regrettable as that might be.

He opened the bag of fast-food breakfast sandwiches he'd brought with him and took a deep breath, his stomach growling when he caught the mouthwatering scent of artery-clogging goodness. “Mmm,” he said, leaning close to her ear. He wasn't surprised when she shrank away from him, trembling. “Smells good.”

When he drew back, her trembling subsided ever so slightly as her gaze flicked down to the bag and then back up to his face. He might've even called it
pleading
.

“You hungry?” She didn't respond, but he heard her stomach rumble in response. “You behave yourself, and I just might be inclined to share a little. You want a bite?”

She swallowed around her gag and nodded just a little.

He grinned at her. “Well, alrighty then. I'm gonna take this gag off you, but you scream and I'll break your jaw.” His smile widened—so as not to frighten her. “Then you'll be hungry
and
hurting. Are we clear?”

She nodded furiously, her eyes taking on a wild look.

Fielding pulled the gag off and gave her a stern look when a strangled little sob came out of her pretty mouth. “Remember, no screaming.”

When she stared silently at him with those wide blue eyes, he unwrapped one of the sandwiches and held it up to her mouth. She cast one questioning look his way, hesitating, but then sunk her teeth into the sandwich, tearing off a sizable bite.

He smoothed a hand over her filthy hair as she wolfed down some more of the sandwich. “Easy now,” he rebuked mildly. “Don't want to make yourself sick.”

Her brows twitched together slightly while she sent a curious look his way. She was confused by his kindness, no doubt. Honestly, he didn't give a shit about
her
. It was just way too fucking early to be cleaning up puke, especially the puke of some rich bitch whose husband had apparently crossed the wrong people. Taking care of her to some degree, keeping her guessing and fearful was all just part of the game. It wouldn't do him a damned bit of good if she choked to death because then he'd have to forfeit. And that just wasn't an option.

So he forced what he hoped resembled a friendly smile in case that kind of shit would keep her from causing problems. “Now, be a good girl,” he told her, “and after you eat maybe we'll give your sister a call.”

* * *

Abby shoved away from her desk with a frustrated groan. Two hours. She'd been on the phone with the cell company for two
freaking
hours trying to get the information she needed. When they'd given her grief about it being Saturday and not being able to get back to her until Monday at the earliest, it was all she could do not to totally lose it. As it was, she
might've
made some threats involving hot pokers up someone's ass. But she'd finally reached a supervisor who wasn't a complete douche bag and had the necessary authority to honor the search warrant Abby had faxed over.

And they'd given her a name: Peter Montgomery Fortinbras.

Trouble was, after a closer look, it turned out Mr. Fortinbras had died in service to his country on a beach in Normandy on June 6, 1944.

Abby rubbed her temples, trying to assuage the headache pounding there. God, the last thing she needed was a full-blown migraine interfering with her efforts to find her sister. Mapping the cell phone's locations every time the kidnapper made a call or sent a text hadn't helped either. According to that information, the fake Mr. Fortinbras hadn't left New Orleans in days.

“Still no luck.” She sighed as Kyle came in with her rewarmed cup of coffee. “I don't know what else to do at this point except wait for him to call and give me the instructions for an exchange.”

Kyle sat down on the edge of her desk. “The most important thing now is to just get Emma back. If you have to turn over the data, so be it. We'll continue to sort through the rest of the information later. You have a backup copy of everything, right?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Then we'll give them what they want and get your sister back,” he assured her. “And after she's safe, we can do whatever it takes to bring the bastards down.”

“Promise me that they won't get away with this, Kyle,” Abby said, her voice breaking under the strain of her emotions.

He lifted a hand and caressed her cheek lightly. “I swear it.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, captivated by the determination and sincerity she saw there and was tempted to smile at the walking, talking contradiction that was Kyle Dawson. As much as he sought to distance himself from his family, Kyle was more like his father than he cared to admit. He was a Dawson through and through.

His desire to protect and serve extended well beyond those he personally cared about. She knew without a doubt that he was the kind of man who would lay down his life protecting a complete stranger as soon as he would for a loved one. And while his courage and selflessness made her immensely proud of him and all he stood for and were among the reasons she'd fallen so crazy in love with him, they also made her wonder in which category his desire to help
her
was placed.

The way he'd kissed her that morning, the passion that had ignited in an instant—and no doubt would have consumed them had they not been interrupted—could've been nothing more than a product of the stress of the situation.
She
certainly would've been willing to throw caution to the wind to forget what was going on just for a moment.

Wasn't it true that people in high-stress situations often attached themselves to others who shared their experiences, misinterpreting the desire to spit in death's face as a true emotional connection?

Or was it just the pull of mutual desire between two consenting adults? Was he just taking advantage of an opportunity that presented itself? Because, let's be honest. He'd been a gentleman. She'd felt his surprise when she kissed him.

It'd been a bullshit move on her part when she'd been the one to break things off. She had absolutely no right to accept his help—or his tender caresses—without an explanation. He deserved better than that.

“Abby?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts. “You okay? What did the phone company say?”

“Dead end.” She sighed. “The name on the account is an alias. The address is a fake. And according to GPS data, he hasn't left New Orleans in days. Clearly, the guy who sent me the text with the dead man's photo isn't the same one who broke into my sister's house.”

Kyle frowned, appearing to be just as frustrated as she was. “What about
that
guy's phone number? Did you run it through?”

“Tried,” she assured him. “He's using a carrier not supported by the app. I even tried a couple of other apps to see if they would unmask the number. If I can't get a number, I can't figure out his provider and get a warrant. We can keep trying, but unfortunately some of these carriers don't retain the data for more than a day or two. So depending on the carrier, we might already be too late to grab it. Of course, a guy like this is most likely using a prepaid burner phone anyway.”

“So what now?” Kyle asked.

She cradled the cup of coffee in her hands, letting it warm her palms and take some of the chill out of her blood. “I guess we wait for him to call back.”

As if on cue, her phone started to ring, the caller ID showing a blocked number.

“Put it on speaker,” Kyle told her, jerking his chin toward the phone.

She nodded and took a deep breath before tapping the speaker icon on the screen. “This is Abby.”

“Good morning, Deputy.”

Kyle's gaze snapped to hers, asking a silent question. Abby nodded. This was definitely the guy who'd attacked her. “Where's my sister?” she demanded. “I want to talk to her.”

“Of course.”

Abby could tell that the guy was smiling.

There was a pause, a shuffle, and then a small, shaky voice whimpered, “Abby?”

Abby's hand flew up to stifle a sob of relief. “Are you okay, Em?” she asked, forcing the tears from her voice. “Are you hurt?”

There was an uncertain sniffle. “I, uh, I hit my head in the car accident.”

“Car accident?” Abby repeated, sending a frown Kyle's way. “What are you talking about?”

“I was coming home from Chicago and—”

Her words abruptly cut off, but Abby could still hear muffled, angry words. “Emma?” she said, lurching to her feet as if she could bolt to her sister's aid at a moment's notice. “Are you there?”

“I'm sorry,” the man said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Mrs. Maxwell is indisposed. She's rather rattled, as you can imagine.”

“So help me, God,” Abby seethed, “if you've hurt her—”

“Really, Deputy,” he interrupted. “You're going to fall back on cop clichés? I figured you were more imaginative than that.”

“Just tell me what you want in exchange for my sister,” Abby said, fighting to keep her anger and frustration in check. Kyle moved to stand beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close, his presence lending her strength.

“You know what I want,” the man informed her. “An even exchange. Your sister for the data in your possession.”

Abby glanced up a Kyle. Could it really be that easy? Was the kidnapper seriously willing to turn Emma over without any fuss? Abby had to believe it. It was the only hope she had. “Fine,” she agreed. “When and where?”