“Thanks,” he said, taking it and allowing the operative to pull him up. “You call Ryan?”
“He’ll be at the house by the time we make it back with him,” Tucker replied, jerking his head at Weeks before all three turned in the direction of the cabin. It wasn’t far, but carrying nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
“Think we can drag him?” Ryder asked, zip-tying Weeks’s wrists behind his back before moving to his ankles.
“Do we care if he hits a rock or two? Or gets a face full of snow?” Tucker countered.
They all looked at one another. Lovell shrugged. “I’ll take his left shoulder.”
“I’ll grab his right,” Ryder said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lovell sat on the couch, nursing a hot toddy, watching Daphne pace in front of the fire. Ryan and his team had been and gone, taking Weeks with them. He’d come to as they approached the cabin, just in time for Ryan’s people to arrest him and read him his rights. Daphne, who’d been standing on the porch watching, had taken one look at Lovell, thrown up her hands, then spun and disappeared back inside.
It wasn’t all bad, though. She’d ordered him into the bathroom for a hot shower and to clean the minor cut on his face from where Weeks had clipped him. And when he emerged, she had the fire going and a hot toddy waiting.
It had been five years since his last fight, right after the Falcons opened Rita C’s, the bar they owned on the north side of town. Recovering from hand-to-hand combat had never been easy, but at thirty-five, it felt a hell of a lot different than at thirty. He felt every second of it and was grateful for the comfort Daphne provided, as grudging as it was.
Daphne muttered something to herself as she paced toward the kitchen. Still dressed in her silk pajamas and woolly cardigan, she managed to look sleek and graceful. Contained. Anexplosion was coming, no doubt, but he didn’t mind the view while he waited.
“At least now we know why Weeks killed Beeks,” she said, passing in front of him. He wasn’t sure they did know that piece of information, but he opted to remain silent rather than question her. “By killing Beeks, he became not just a kidnapper and attempted murderer, but anactualmurderer,” she continued. “His actions convinced us he had yet one more reason to flee the area, when in fact, he planned all along to circle back.”
Lovell thought it more likely that the two men had fought. That Beeks, who needed money to support his mom, wanted to stick around and finish the job, no matter how hot the area had become. Weeks, on the other hand, probably wanted to call it quits and get out of Dodge. A fight followed, Beeks died, then Weeks fled. Only eventually, he realized if he completed the job, he’d get all the money promised, not just his half. Lovell knew men like him, had grown up surrounded by them. Money and ego, not any sense of cunning, drove their actions.
“But how did he find us?” she asked, pausing in front of the fire. She’d pulled her hair into a braid, and the long rope hung between her shoulder blades. He shouldn’t be thinking about wrapping it around his fist, tipping her head back, and…
“Your car. Again,” he said. Between the vestiges of the fight, the late hour, and the visceral pull to claim Daphne, he had best keep his mind on other things.
She cocked her head. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I came back. I promised I would, and I did.”
Her jaw ticked. If she could conjure flames, they’d be shooting from her head right about now.
“You expect me to believe he was aimlessly driving around town until he spotted my car?” she said, resuming her pacing.
“There’s one road into and out of town. All he’d have to do is park somewhere, probably near the center, and wait.”
“And then he followed us without you or Gabe noticing?”
She had a point there. He and Philly had their eyes and ears open and hadn’t noticed anything. Being honest with himself, though, maybe they hadn’t taken the threat as seriously as they should have. Maybe they’d relied too much on the video of Weeks leaving town.
“This isn’t about Daisy,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him and jamming her hands on her hips. The movement made it very clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. He skimmed his eyes down her body. No telltale signs of underwear, either. Not a surprise given that she’d been in bed, ready to sleep, ninety minutes ago. Still, pretty much every rational thought fled his mind as his blood rushed to his cock.
“It’s always felt wrong to me. A stalker doesn’t outsource their stalking. And if she’s not stalking you, why would she want you dead? It makes no sense.” She looked down at him, waiting for an answer. The only answer he had was to bury himself inside her and make her scream his name. He didn’t think that’s what she had in mind.
“Well?” she said. The silk of her top brushed over the peaks of her nipples. His mouth watered; his vision narrowed. He was about to do something potentially epically stupid, but if he was going to do it, he may as well go big.
Kicking out a leg, he hooked his foot around her knee and pulled. Caught by surprise, she tumbled into his lap, straddling him. A moment’s relief washed through him as she landed on his erection, but he didn’t take the time to savor it. Wrapping his hand in her braid, he pulled her head back enough so that she opened her mouth in surprise. A mouth he covered with his own.
He didn’t tease, he didn’t seduce, he plundered. The stress of Weeks coming for her again and the testosterone of the fightcollided with the desire, the need, for her that had been growing since she’d first ordered him into her car.
His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting everything about her. A hint of lemon from the sip she’d taken of his drink, remnants of toothpaste, the fear she’d felt for him. Yes, she’d been angry, might still be, but he’d seen the threads of anxiety in her eyes as well. Fear, worry, for him.
She made a small mewl, and some of the lusty fog cleared from his brain. Pulling his lips from hers, he stared. If she slapped him, he’d deserve it, but he sure as hell hoped that wasn’t the direction she wanted to go.
She blinked. He remained still, a predator waiting for his prey to make a decision. She lifted a shoulder, bumping it into the arm wrapped around her. He released her braid, letting his arms fall to his sides.
