Kiss the Killer [From the CIA 2](BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 13

  Eikem could hear muffled sounds of furniture and smaller items being tossed around. A foreign language, of the Middle East possibly, infrequently vibrated through the walls. The men in the house definitely had their minds set on finding something, and they had no fear because they didn’t seem to care about leaving their mark behind in the form of a torn apart home.

  “We’re going in on three.” Duchaine’s order came through. Eikem readied himself at the back door, Borland moved to the front entrance, and Duchaine took the west door. “One…two…three.”

  All three doors crashed open simultaneously. Eikem’s door had been unlocked. He wasn’t sure about the others, but the antiquated wood of the doors held no threat as a sturdy barricade. Two armed men, one with a pistol and the other a mini mac, skidded into the hall. Their legs crouched in a ready-for-battle form while they whipped their heads about to take in the disturbances that could mean nothing good.

  Eikem would be their first target, if he rounded the busted-in door and entered the back hall. Instead he’d banged the door wide open and retreated to the outer frame of the door where he couldn’t be seen.

  “Police!” Duchaine roared through the house. “Drop your weapons and come to the front.”

  Eikem waited to hear movement by the intruders.

  Instead of fearing legal authorities, the intruders both swung to the front and fired away. Bullets splashed against the walls at waist level. Splinters of wood and stone shot back in a mess of debris mixing on the floor in a dust of firepower.

  A return volley rang out from the front. Eikem could hear the sound of two separate guns adding to the fray. They sounded like shots from his partners. A gruff bellow erupted near the back door as a man stumbled onto the landing and tripped down the steps.

  “Freeze. Stay where you are.” Eikem pointed his shot at the bloodied chest of a man in faded fatigues, black worn boots, and the mini mac at his waist pointing at himself. The man’s face grew from a grimace of pain into a sneer of contempt. A slight adjustment of the mac triggered Eben Eikem’s well-rehearsed instincts. This man bleeding and goading on the ground had no intentions of cooperating to save his own life.

  Eikem aimed his gun for a kill and fired three times. A simultaneous spurt of lead grazed the outer extremities of his thigh. Eikem thudded to the ground with an anguished moan. He managed to keep his gun pointed at his foe, which turned out unnecessary as he saw the man’s head had fallen to the side with blood coursing through his beard at an increasingly slower rate.

  The man’s gun lay flat on the ground and his chest stopped heaving. Eikem glanced inside the door. The shots had ceased. He looked back at the man dirtying the snow with his dark blood. Hoisting himself onto his elbow, then with a grunt and a thrust, he jumped up on his good leg. He wrapped his weapon-free hand around his thigh. The blood slowly seeped between his fingers while the wound sent shots of fire up and down his leg.

  He limped to the man who lay ten feet to his west. Still with his gun poised for action, Eikem leaned down to assure himself there was no mistaking the man’s demise. He pushed the man with the toe of his boot, feeling the pressure ignite in his wound. He hadn’t wanted to release his balance from his good leg. The man was definitely heavy with death. He’d come back later and check for identification or anything else to indicate to him and his partners what reason the men had for ripping apart Alina Runesson’s home.

  Tightening his lips and taking his mind elsewhere to help the pain in his leg not be part of him, he grabbed the mac and staggered to the back door and up the steps. “Duchaine! Borland, you okay?”

  “I’m up front. Get in here quick!” They didn’t know Eikem’s fate as Borland yelled for the injured to hurry. Someone else must’ve gotten hurt, too.

  With uneven thumps of his boots, Eikem rushed up the hall as speedily as possible. When he entered the open living room and attached kitchen area, he stopped while staring at the floor. He swore he’d just left this picture.

  Duchaine lay on his back, head cocked to the side. He barely noted the crumpled body of the other foreign intruder. What Eikem noticed first was the large dark stain covering Duchaine’s shirt and the edges of his jacket. “No! Is he—?”

  Borland’s shake of his head and heavy lids nearly closing his eyes told Eikem the answer. “I would’ve thought I’d have gotten the bullet before him since I was positioned at a straighter angle. Guess these guys were used to fighting around corners.” He said this without any hint of humor. He looked at Eikem’s leg with a nod.

  “I got him. Mine is dead. This is just a superficial wound. I’ll clean it up, put a bandage around it, and be good to go. You okay?” Eikem looked around the room at the chaos they added to the search of the house.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He shook his head as he straightened up. “We’re going to have to contact Kreis.” He wiped his brow. “We have three bodies to get rid of.”

  * * * *

  The shrunken ice cube in her cup slipped and dinged against the plastic as Alina waited for Vic to tell her not to worry about coming out of this alive.

  The pause before he said, “No, I’ll bring you back,” didn’t give her the confidence she looked for, yet the amber drink in her cup helped ease the truth. As long as she played it safe and put her trust in Vic, it would all work out somehow. As much as he wanted her to act in full trust and hardly breathe of her own volition, she still had broken thoughts about the man.

  If he really, really had no intentions beyond helping her, didn’t expect any payback, and was some kind of miracle sent her way at the right time, she’d never ask for anything but good health again.

  She looked at his thick neck as he tipped his head back to empty his drink. His strength and all-man appearance showed even in the few inches between his shirt and powerful, square jaw. He showed perfectness too well-formed and a mind too intelligent and powerful to be bad. This also meant she needed to stay fully clothed and on good behavior around him. To even consider a relationship, short as it would be simply because she assumed he’d head back to the States at some time soon, would be a detrimental mistake on her part and for him too. She hadn’t let herself forget that a man too good to be true would never survive around her.

  She imagined the silence vibrating in waves between them as she didn’t have a response. What else could she say?

  As he set his cup on the nightstand, he said, “Shall we?” He waved his arm over the twin-double bed set.

  Alina dipped her head, turned to collect her overnight bag, and stood. “I’ll change in the bathroom.” She backed into the tiled room, tripped over her foot and tried to cover her misstep, and slowly shut the door.

  “I hope it’s the sheep pajamas again.” He spoke loudly and must have intended for her to hear through the door. “I do like those.” She didn’t comment. “I’ll take the left half of the bed, if you don’t mind?”

  The bath door opened and she returned in the hoped for lounge wear. “That’s fine with me,” she said as she knelt onto the right side of the bed, gingerly pulling the covers back.

  He stared at her. She wasn’t sure what his intentions had become since she’d briefly left to dress for bed. The dim lighting didn’t allow her to analyze his eyes, dark and mysterious as the only hint to his thoughts. He studied at her as if she’d dressed in satin, see-through satin. His eyes stared through her and goose bumps rose on her warm flesh.

  She found herself sitting on her legs, bent at the knees, and staring back. He had a mesmerizing quality. She could enjoy his attention under different circumstances but she knew better, or at least she tried to convince herself he only represented a passkey to her cousin’s return. She had to consider this and only this. Not his body, now half undressed with his chest flexing in its bareness. A soft shadow of light brown hair covered his torso and narrowed into his shorts.

  She shouldn’t notice this, his body and how stimulating it could feel against her. It had to be the alcohol persuading her thoughts. She knew
she had better control than her mind leaned toward right now. As long as he keeps his thoughts, if they are anything like her own, to himself, she’d make it through the night without doing anything stupid. She’d get a good night’s sleep, and she needed it.

  A clear mind and attention to their surroundings are her orders for a successful next day.

  Nearly reclaiming her control, Vic spoke. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable…this close together tonight?”

  She jerked her head and came back to the here and now. Her eyes scanned the pushed together twin beds. They separated yet came together depending on her perspective. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m so tired I can sleep just about anywhere tonight. This will be fine.”

  “Okay, I believe you.” A grin briefly changed his serious expression, but then it disappeared. “I’ll even put my back to you, if it will make you feel better.”

  She scooted her legs under the blanket. “Not necessary. I’m perfectly fine.” Her babbling came from nerves on alert. She doubted he missed her energy sparks flying around. If she’d quit babbling, she’d be able to keep them contained. “Wake me up whenever. I get ready fast.” Here she goes again.

  He quietly lay on top of his blankets. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see his chest slowly go up and down. He folded his hands behind his head. He didn’t make a move toward her. She silently thanked him.

  At an unknown time while she peeked at his vital body so close, her eyes closed. She knew she slept, yet this kind of sleep left her wondering if she hadn’t completely gone to dreamland. She repeatedly twitched with the knowledge of him so near. Only half asleep had to be the explanation as she imagined what she’d do to him if she’d allowed herself an extra night of liberties.

  She wouldn’t get attached and neither would he. The week they’d be together would pass as quick as a breeze in the desert, and with the schedule of running, hiding, and finding her missing cousin the time together would be minimal.

  She hadn’t allowed a man other than Jon into her personal life since she couldn’t exactly recall. It would only be sex. It’d be fun. That’s all she’d give him, one more night of fun. That’s what men called it, fun. She didn’t care for that description, but right now it gave her a little latitude to enjoy and toss aside the ebbing guilt.

  Who was she kidding? The throb between her legs she tried to ignore along with the racing of her heart. She could attribute that to solely a physical need. Yes, the body reacting is only physical, not emotional. Her mind is completely free of need.

  “You awake?” His voice startled her.

  Now she truly had woken up. Her head lay facing him. She opened her eyes just enough to peer between the lashes and pretend her sleep hadn’t been interrupted. He didn’t fall for it. The rustle of his blanket ended with his hand reaching toward her cheek. He softly touched her face with the back of his hand and a single stroke.

  The tickle of their skin connecting automatically made her flutter her eyelids. He knew she was awake even if she hadn’t been during her dreamy thoughts.

  He left his hand near her face. The warmth of a man a few inches within her grasp dissolved her walls of protection. All her reasons to ignore, stay away from, and defy his magnetism got jumbled in her conscience and exited somewhere far away.

  She couldn’t have slept for any length of time. A tiny cloud flitted through her head, masked in a mist of the evening beverage. If she’d slept for a couple hours, she knew her head would’ve cleared.

  “I haven’t fallen asleep, either.” The breath of his words settled on her skin. “I’m tired, but I guess my mind is too active.”

  She rubbed her face against his hand. It was too late to fake being asleep.

  His hand dropped lower with his fingers trailing across her shoulder where her night top had fallen to the side. Her sheep flannel didn’t guard her primal instincts, rather they crept under her night clothes. Her sense of formality drifted away.

  She caught his fingers in the palm of her heated hand. They tangled playfully. She found herself smiling in spite of her fear of attraction.

  His face moved closer, and his nose rubbed against hers. His head tilted to barely allow his lips to connect with the dry patch of skin on her lips, which she ran her tongue over to invite the press of his mouth. He made a slight smacking sound, released the pressure, repeated the taste, released, and pressed his tender kiss again.

  She sensed his hips shift closer, but not touching her. She wanted them to touch. No, forget it. The blanket is between them and she’d keep it in place as a shield from her weakness. Kissing wasn’t a smart choice, either. Kissing leads to sentiments. Sentiments lead to caring. Caring leads to making love. Making love leads to a perfect dead man. Don’t forget what happened to Jon.

  Jon kissed, cared, and loved. Jon is now dead after he tried to be her knight in shining armor. He didn’t have shining armor. He didn’t have any armor at all. The bullets went straight through his heart, then his stomach, and then his head.

  Vic’s hip nudged her. It moved with stealth against her side, the thin blanket her only recourse. The controlled muscles of his waist claimed a spot against her followed by hot, sensuous lips tenuously planting kisses along her shoulder blade. Like a warm, plush towel, his mouth caressed her tired muscles. At least the kisses weren’t on her lips. A lip kiss had a lot more meaning and emotion attached to it.

  With her conciliatory thoughts bombarding her mind, she noticed her leg swing toward his and her arm move out from under the covers. Her body didn’t listen to the logic she begged herself to pay attention to.

  “We don’t have to do anything. I can just keep you warm, if you like.” She hadn’t noticed her goose bumps along her shoulder until he indicated she might be cold. His voice matched the warmth building between two bodies, hers dressed in a farmyard animal flannel and his sporting briefs. She hoped he still wore them.

  “I’m plenty warm.” That could be taken the wrong way.

  He didn’t comment on the opening she’d left for him. She let her breath out. She could still stop herself from the inevitable mistake coming her way. So why didn’t she?

  A deep hum between her legs answered with a pleasurable pain. He must’ve put something in her drink. She didn’t believe herself and knew she looked for an excuse to not stop his advancement. She better curb her own actions as she became aware of her hand tucked under his arm and rubbing his muscles stretched taut over his torso. She wanted to knead his strength and pull him against her chest without the blanket to intrude.

  His lips moved from her shoulder to the rising mound of her breast. Her back involuntarily curved, pushing her chest closer to the split between beds.

  She wanted him. Now that she admitted it to herself, she accepted it and put her mind in motion to stop it before she regretted anything.

  Pulling her leg back to her side, she inadvertently rolled her upper body toward him and lay at an angle across her bed and partially onto his. She didn’t understand the purpose for two twin beds pushed together and had, until now, taken for granted she’d have no problem pretending they weren’t really sleeping together. She lay still as his left arm reached over her back. His hand rested along her spine and rubbed up and down in slow, circular motions.

  She’d let him do this for a minute or so, and then ward him off. It wasn’t common to have the perfect massage tool, a man’s large, strong, and rough hand, used for her pleasure. He didn’t move his mouth farther toward her breast. His lips gently kissed all the space between the hem of her neckline and her collarbone. That would be okay for the extra minute of the overly relaxing caress of her back.

  The minute she’d allowed had to be close to over. Without a clock in her view, she lengthened the time with another excuse. He didn’t push for more. She’d already let him rub her back, and if that’s as far as he’d go her mind and body didn’t have the energy to dissuade him. She stretched her toes like a cat lying in the sun.

  Vic’s hand circled her
spine. His thumb skimmed over the edge of her back, touching the side of her breast. Please don’t go farther. I really want this backrub, but I can’t let anything else happen. She kept talking herself into and out of pulling him onto her and between her legs. It really isn’t making love when there’s no love at stake. No feelings to hurt or damage. If she gave in to the ache creeping up her belly, she could start over in the morning. They wouldn’t have time for this again because she couldn’t imagine taking a break from the schedule laid out to get to Iraq and back in one piece.

  He pulled his hand from her back, leaving a cool spot where the friction of their skin ceased. His fingers crept with confidence under her top. She craved for them to reach their destination. It wasn’t her fault, he started it.

  She found her hand matching his movements on his chest. Her fingers trembled as they pushed on the firm curves of his pectoral muscles. Her palm swiped over the hard protrusion of his nipple. She did it again. Her body followed course with her abdomen magnetized to his.

  He pulled the blanket from between them and pushed his hand farther up her shirt until she ducked her head and conceded to letting him pull it off. She didn’t notice the cooler air outside the covers this time. Her body generated heat and erased the bumps of cold originally keeping her cuddled in her nightwear.

  He returned his arm to her back, his lips plowed to her neck, and his hardness pressed near the heat between her thighs.

  She caved fast. She was a reasonable woman and deserved the touch of a man when she wanted it. He couldn’t fault her for her needs as he didn’t have a problem openly demonstrating what he wanted. She considered them equals and that meant she had the right to exhibit what she wanted as much as he did.

  Releasing one of her hands, she reached to her waist and pulled the elastic band of her bottoms down. Her legs kicked the flannel down to her ankles where she used her feet to pull them off and shove them to the lower end of the bed.