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Because she was scared. He had seen that flash of fear in her eyes. That feminine knowledge that she had come up against something or someone that she wasn’t certain how to handle.
She would learn how to handle it, how to handle him, because the bottom line came down to the fact that he couldn’t risk letting her go.
The information they had on the female within the group of thieves that had stolen that arms shipment en route to the U. S. Army garrison in Fort Knox was too similar to Crista’s description. There were no photographs yet, no one had managed to identify her, and Dawg was going to make damned sure that Crista didn’t get identified in the criminal’s stead.
He didn’t like the pinch in his gut that warned him that some bad shit was coming down the road.
He could feel it, like a premonition. An instinctual warning that danger was moving in on his position like a bird of prey gliding over the valley searching for food. And Crista was sitting smack-dab in the middle of that valley, a tasty little morsel just waiting to be plucked into the jaws of whoever or whatever was moving in.
It had to do with these missiles; he could feel it. It wasn’t a coincidence that she had been there, but he couldn’t convince himself she was involved, either. He had found something else in the small house her parents had left her and Alex, though.
The freshly swept carpet had shown signs of traffic. He knew Crista; like most women she did things in a certain way, and he remembered Alex bitching years ago about how she always swept the floors before they left the house. She would sweep back to the front door, storing the sweeper in the hall closet before they left and leaving the carpet pristine and devoid of tracks.
Crista’s carpet had tracks in it. Tracks just slightly too large to be hers. Or so he tried to convince himself. They were subtle; he gave credit to whoever had made them, someone had tried to wipe them out, but they hadn’t completely managed it.
The tracks had started in the living room, just off the small foyer. They had walked through the living room, gone up the steps, and moved into her bedroom to her dresser, then to her closet. While there, Dawg had found the address to the warehouse tucked into a dark bronze blazer that had been hung haphazardly in the closet. There had been nothing else. Not a scrap of paper, not a stash of money, nothing to tie her to the theft of the weapons, other than that address. There had been just enough of a disturbance to allay his conscience in lying to his superiors.
Not that he needed to excuse that very often. He had a very high respect for the chain of command, there was no doubt; he was, after all, a Marine. But he knew that sometimes, some things needed a little closer investigation before he reported them. Crista was one of those instances.
Soft, warm, hotter than hell, and fighting him tooth and nail. But she was back in his bed and sleeping next to him.
How many times had he awakened over the years, certain he would find her next to him, knowing that the dream that had haunted his sleep had to be more than a dream. And each time he had awakened alone, until now.
Hell no, he wasn’t letting her out of this one. He would blackmail her a thousand times over if that was what it took to get her into his bed and to keep her there.
He watched her carefully, reaching out with his hand, his fingertips only touching the silky flesh of her thigh.
Damn, she was soft. Like the finest silk. The most expensive satin. Warm and sweet.
She shifted again, a muttered little moan slipping past her lips as he let more of his fingers experience that heated sensation, caressing the rounded flesh gently.
She whispered a sigh, her thighs falling farther apart, giving him a clear view of the sweet flesh covered in cotton.
Was she wet?
His fingers paused on her thigh, only inches from what was paradise.
“Does this deal include molesting me in my sleep?” Her half-drowsy exclamation of contempt was punctuated by a quick jerk at the sheet to draw it back over her thighs.
He grinned. Damn, she was going to be a challenge, maybe more than he anticipated.
“I think I should start a list,” he murmured lazily, drawing the sheet back toward him. “Keeping your little butt off the firing line could get complicated. I’ll need compensation.
She didn’t let go of the covering. Her fingers tightened on it, her chocolate eyes glared back at him.
“Now, Crista,” he chided her gently, though his gaze was anything but gentle as it met hers. “Let go of the sheet. Let me see what I’m lying for today. ”
“You wouldn’t turn me in. ”
He could see the bravado in her gaze now. She was well-rested and feeling more confident, better able to handle him. Let’s see if she could.
He pushed back desire, need, temptation, and gave her the steely eyed look he had perfected in the Marines. The one that assured those both above and lower in rank that he was someone to be reckoned with.
Her eyes flickered with indecision.
“It’s like this, fancy-face. ” He smirked. “When Alex returns, he won’t be able to do a damned thing about what’s happened here, right now. If my superiors connect you to this case, then you’re gone. ”
“Over drugs?” She snorted. “I don’t think so, Dawg. Drug dealers are not terrorists. ”
