Nick prowled around the cabin while Avery retreated to the bedroom.
He hadn’t slept much in the past forty-eight hours, but he was too wired to rest. Also, he wasn’t eager to stretch out on the hardwood floor again. He still had a crick in his neck from last night. Massaging the ache, he thought about Jeff Silva. The unmitigated nerve of a man who would force a husband to kneel and watch while he felt up his wife.
Bastard.
Father Jeff’s hands hadn’t strayed too far beyond the bounds of propriety. He’d touched Avery’s lower abdomen under the guise of healing her “affliction,” so Nick couldn’t protest, even though Father Jeff had stroked her stomach with the same relish he might have cupped her breasts. It was creepy, it was intrusive and it was blatant. Nick had wanted to break both of his mystical hands and smash his sandaled feet. Jonah Silva hadn’t seemed comfortable with his father’s actions, either. He’d stood by with an air of disapproval, which had reinforced Nick’s first impression: Jonah was a possible ally. Not an innocent, but an ally. Jonah was complicit in his father’s abuses.
Nick wished he hadn’t told Avery that he would take Jeff Silva alive. He couldn’t make any promises about the outcome of the investigation. He’d gone off the rails the moment he’d recruited Avery. He was no longer in communication with his department. For all he knew, the mission had been terminated.
Nick’s SAC would probably wait for him to report back before deciding the next step. If Nick unearthed some actual evidence, his team would act on it. If he didn’t… Nick was in serious trouble. He couldn’t arrest Silva without support. He could only do recon and try to communicate his findings. There was a chance of Silva escaping prosecution, no matter what Nick discovered. Silva might take his own life, and encourage his followers to do the same. He might get off scot-free and continue terrorizing and impregnating young women, while also conspiring against the government.
Nick couldn’t live with that kind of loose end. He wasn’t above cutting it through illegal and immoral means. Exacting a personal revenge on Silva wouldn’t bother Nick in the least. He’d welcome the opportunity. When he wasn’t fantasizing about Avery, he was fantasizing about murder. Ms. Freud would have a field day with that, wouldn’t she?
“Nick?” she called from the bedroom.
He walked to the doorway and looked in. She was lying on her side, staring at the blank wall. The bedroom had no windows. It was dark and confined, a closet with deep corners. “Yeah?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. Her hair had come loose from the blue ribbon, creating a silky disarray. “Talk to me about your work.”
He ventured farther into the room and stood with his back to the wall. There was an empty wooden chest at the foot of the bed that could double as a chair, but he didn’t want to sit. He noted the irony of their positions. She was the shrink, reclining like a patient. She had an arm tucked behind her head. Softly supine, with feminine curves and a nipped-in waist. He tore his gaze away before his imagination wandered. “What do you want to know?”
“What happened to the other agent?”
“Ellen?”
“The man who was killed on the last assignment.”
He studied his scuffed boots, unsure where to start. “His name was Chris.”
“Chris,” she said, as if committing it to memory. “How did he die?”
“He was shot twice. The first bullet went through his rib cage and grazed his lung. The second one was to the head. It wasn’t survivable.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“FBI arrested a guy named Beck. He’s the leader of the White Army. Jeff Silva has been meeting him in private and helping him raise funds. Beck is a suspect in the bombing of a federal building in Sacramento. Two employees were injured. Chris went undercover to investigate the militia.”
“Was Beck acting on Father Jeff’s orders?”
“For the terror attack?”
“And the shooting.”
“He didn’t admit to the connection, but I’m sure of it. The members of the White Army are amateurs. They’re your basic rowdy, disorganized bigots. Beck is a thug. He couldn’t have identified our man on his own. The day after Chris was introduced to Silva, he was executed.”
She lifted her head off her arm to examine his face. He kept his expression blank without really meaning to. The habit was so ingrained, he did it on instinct. He wasn’t hiding his feelings so much as burying them.
“What did he mean to you?” she asked.
He glanced up at the ceiling, which was about as interesting as his boots. “I’d known him for more than ten years. We were friends.”
“Work friends?”
“More than that. We hung out after work.”
“How often?”
“Too often, in his wife’s opinion.”
“You said he cheated on her.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was cheating?”
“Yes,” he admitted, after a pause.
“Did you disapprove?”
He massaged the nape of his neck, considering. “I told him he was going to get caught. That’s as judgmental as I got.”
“You didn’t tell him to stop?”
“No. He wouldn’t have listened.”
“What about her?”
“His wife?”
She nodded. “What’s she like?”
He grappled for an apt descriptor. “She’s…nice.”
“Nice-looking, or nice personality?”
“Both.”
Avery propped her head on her hand, elbow bent. “Did you tell her he was cheating?”
“Hell no.”
“Why not?”
“He was my best friend, and it was none of my business.”
“Would you have lied, if she’d asked you about it?”
He didn’t answer.
“Did she ask you about it?”
Nick pushed away from the wall and started pacing the room. She was pretty good at ferreting out emotions from the dry well of his soul. He could lie to her, or refuse to speak on this subject. He could shut down and blank his face. The problem was, he needed her on his team. Giving her the cold shoulder wouldn’t help them work together. She’d already been subjected to the degrading whims of Jonah and Jeff Silva. She’d played her role well. If psychoanalyzing him reduced her stress level, so be it. He could open up.
“She didn’t ask me about it until after they separated,” Nick said. “She’d already caught him sneaking around, and he’d admitted to an affair. She called me from a bar one night, crying. I offered to give her a ride home.”
“Did she accept?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Very little. I don’t think she wanted the details.”
“What did she want?”
“Comfort,” he said. “Revenge.”
Avery rose to a sitting position. “Did she get it?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, shrugging.
“You slept with your best friend’s wife?”
“They were separated.”
She gaped at him, incredulous.
“It wasn’t my finest moment,” he allowed.
“Why did you do it?”
He tried to articulate his reasons. “She was upset with me because I’d covered for him. She was hurting. I knew that she’d gone to that bar to find someone to make her feel good. Better me than a stranger.”
“You considered this an act of kindness?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Was it just once?”
“It was just one night.”
She studied him for a moment. “Did she tell him?”
He braced an arm against the doorframe. “I don’t know. They weren’t on speaking terms, and he never mentioned it.”
She rose from the bed. “Have you considered that she did it to punish him? Not to assuage her hurt, but to hurt him?”
“Yes,” he ground out.
“Do you feel guilty?”
“Of course I feel guilty. I went back and forth about telling him myself. I made excuses to avoid him. I didn’t want to lose him as a friend or jeopardize our professional relationship. Then he picked up the undercover assignment and that was it. I never saw him alive again.”
“You blame yourself,” she said, studying him.
He didn’t want to admit she was right. He felt responsible for Chris’s death. Maybe Chris had taken on a dangerous assignment because his marriage was ending and his best friend had betrayed him.
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Only at the funeral.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“He’s out of the picture now.”
Nick scowled at her wording. “I don’t want to date her.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing.”
“Was the sex disappointing?”
“No. It was good.”
“But not good enough to repeat.”
“It was a mistake,” he said, his voice clipped. “We both knew that. I wouldn’t ask her out because she’s the widow of a fellow agent. The guys in the department would never let me live it down, and Chris’s death would hang over us like a goddamned shroud. Plus, I haven’t even looked at another woman since…”
She moistened her lips. “Since what?”
“Since I met you,” he said, holding her gaze. “I haven’t looked at another woman since I met you.”
Color rose to her cheeks at his admission. She crossed her arms over her chest, which had the spectacular effect of plumping her breasts against the neckline of her blouse. The modest undergarment acted like an old-fashioned corset.
He couldn’t prevent his eyes from dipping. The best he could do was raise them again, because her face was even more arresting than her figure. He watched with bated breath, waiting for any hint of encouragement.
She wanted him to talk about his feelings, but he’d much rather express himself physically. He wanted to take her to bed. Sexual release was a guaranteed stress reliever. He’d make sure to give her pleasure, kneeling and worshipping in his preferred style. Plus, he’d be following Jonah’s orders.
The last thought had a chilling effect. Nick couldn’t take the risk of unprotected sex, and that was the only kind they could have here. These backwater zealots didn’t believe in birth control. His chances of scoring a condom were nil. He imagined asking Jonah for one, along with his watch and a straight razor.
Ha.
She arched a brow. “This is funny to you?”
“No,” he said, erasing his smile. “It just feels good to confess my sins. Like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.”
She didn’t appear to believe him, which was perceptive of her. He was giving her a line. Stepping forward, she poked a finger at his shirtfront. “Do you want to know what I think? I think you do this to avoid feelings.”
“Do what?”
“Turn on the charm. Make it physical.”
“I’m not ‘making it physical’ on my own,” he said, capturing her hand against his chest. His heart pounded under her fingertips. He knew the attraction between them wasn’t one-sided. He’d encountered the evidence firsthand in her apartment. She’d kissed him with enough heat to incinerate them both.
“When a woman asks you for emotions, you give her sex.”
He couldn’t evaluate the plausibility of this theory; he was too fixated on her mouth. The words sex and ask sent blood rushing to his groin. He rubbed his thumb over the pulse point in her slender wrist. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Her pulse leaped at his touch, but he didn’t have to count the beats to gauge her responsiveness. It was clear from her flushed skin, her dilated pupils and parted lips. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.
When he slid his free arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to align their lower bodies, she didn’t resist. Quite the opposite; she lifted her lips to his. He made an animal sound and crushed his mouth over hers. He was already aroused, his senses clouded by lust. He kissed her with a hunger that bordered on desperation. There was no charm or finesse in it. He wasn’t kissing her to avoid his feelings, or to regain control of the situation. He was kissing her because he had to kiss her, emotional consequences be damned.
She didn’t seem too concerned about his motivations, or bothered by his inelegance. She pressed her breasts to his chest and tangled her tongue with his eagerly.
Santa Maria.
His erection went stiff as a board between them. When she moaned into his mouth, grinding her softness along his length, he lost the ability to think. He filled his palms with her supple backside and lifted her against him.
Instinct had him heading toward the bed, where he fell on top of her. The curves of her body felt like heaven underneath him. He thrust into the cradle of her hips, groaning. It was crude and clumsy and hot as hell. She purred her approval, so he kept doing it, plundering her mouth with his tongue at the same time. The firm mattress made a perfect surface for rough-and-tumble sex. He gathered a handful of her skirt and pushed it up, fumbling for bare skin.
A knock at the door caused her to freeze underneath him.
He broke the kiss, panting. His erection throbbed with frustration, rock-hard.
“Sister Ellen?”
It was Margot.
“Just a minute,” Avery said, her voice strained.
Nick couldn’t roll over on the narrow bed. With a groan, he lifted his weight from her and stood. The buttons of his homespun pants strained to contain his arousal. He was almost embarrassed by the exaggerated tent. When she caught sight of him and bit her lower lip, brow furrowed with want, he had to turn away. He was so close, a hot look could set him off. The bedsprings squeaked as she scrambled to her feet.
He stayed in the bedroom, trying to will away his raging hard-on, while she had a short conversation with Margot. To his relief, the woman didn’t ask to come in. By the time Avery thanked her for stopping by and shut the door, Nick had his body under control. He went to the sink to fill a mug with cold water. He drank several gulps before hazarding a glance at Avery. She held another basket in her arms.
“Do you think she heard us?” Avery asked.
He shrugged. It was the least of his troubles.
Avery set the basket on the table. “We can’t get carried away again.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “I shouldn’t have started anything. I apologize.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You apologize?”
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
Her eyes narrowed at his surly tone. He knew what they’d both prefer: a steamy resolution in the bedroom. She seemed offended by his agreement that they should not, in fact, do that. She rifled through the items in the basket, her brow furrowed.
He could have mentioned condoms, but he was reluctant to use that excuse. They could get each other off without using protection. If she was up for that, he didn’t want to know—because he wouldn’t be able to resist. His control was hanging by a thread, and he needed to keep his distance for professional reasons. He’d crossed the line by making her his partner. His recruitment tactics had been highly questionable. He hadn’t been straight with her, and the information he’d fabricated might come back to haunt him. He couldn’t afford to complicate the situation with sex.
There were emotional repercussions he didn’t want to deal with, as well. Avery Samuels was relationship material. They’d had an instant and undeniable connection. He’d told her more about his past than he’d told any of his previous girlfriends. He’d confessed his deepest secrets to her with an air of nonchalance, but he didn’t feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, about to fall off.
Avery gasped as she discovered an item in the basket. She lifted a tiny garment between her thumbs and forefingers. It was an infant onesie.
Nick, who’d just taken another sip of water, coughed it out in a spray of disbelief. Avery doubled over with laughter at his reaction. Nick laughed with her, wiping his face.
“Jesus,” he said. “They could at least wait for us to finish doing it.”
She wiped tears from her eyes. It was encouraging to see her cry with laughter, rather than sadness. He was glad she could find some humor in their situation. If they couldn’t engage in one stress reliever, they’d take another.
“You have to remember not to use the lord’s name in vain,” she said.
He made a sign of the cross. “I’ll do ten Hail Marys.”
She smiled at his religious reference. “You were raised Catholic?”
“Yes.”
Instead of using this opportunity to grill him about his tragic past, or psychoanalyze him, she let the subject drop. “Margot invited me to her garden club.”
“When is it?”
“This afternoon.”
He wanted to examine the land that was available for growing crops. He couldn’t plant his seed in Mrs. Dean, as ordered, so he might as well do his other job properly. “I need to take a tour of the fields.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He didn’t argue, because her input would be helpful, and staying together was wise. Someone else might drop in for a visit while he was gone. Someone like Father Jeff, or Brother Jonah. Nick didn’t trust either of them with Avery.
He waited as she changed her soft leather shoes for the heavier boots and retied her hair with the blue ribbon. She looked stronger than she had after the service. She’d been pale and distant, even numb. Now the color had returned to her cheeks and there was sparkle in her eyes. The retreat to the cabin had done her good. Maybe their make-out session had revved her up a little, too. It had certainly gotten his blood pumping. He’d pay the price tonight, when he couldn’t sleep for wanting her.
As they strolled down the main path, they ran into Rupert. He winked at Avery and said hello to Nick. “Where are you two off to?”
“I wanted to check out the summer crops,” Nick said. “See what’s growing.”
“Have you seen the garden?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“You don’t have anything planted in the fields?”
“It’s been a tough year for farming,” Rupert explained. “First Brother Michael passed, God rest his soul. Then we lost his apprentice to holy service. In the spring, Father Jeff decided we needed more guards because of the reckoning. There wasn’t anyone left to tend the fields.” Rupert patted Nick on the shoulder. “You’ve got your work cut out, Brother.”
“What’s the reckoning?” Nick asked.
“It’s the destruction of the outside world. Father Jeff has visions about it. Evil forces are gaining ground all around us, which I’m sure you know. We’re safe here, but we have to protect ourselves.”
Nick didn’t mention the obvious, that stable food resources and self-sufficiency were better safety measures than armed guards. “And holy service?”
“That’s a rite of passage. Every young man in The Haven journeys beyond our borders to perform a spiritual task. Some stray off the holy path when they cross into the secular plane and don’t come back.”
Avery appeared surprised by the description of this practice, as if she hadn’t heard of it before. Maybe holy service was a new strategy for culling the flock of strong male competitors. Nick grasped Avery’s hand. She changed her expression to a sunny smile.
Rupert looked back and forth between them. If he suspected they were anything other than devout worshippers of Father Jeff, his face didn’t show it. “I know who can give you a tour of the fields,” he said, waving at someone nearby. “Brother Jonah asked me to fetch him for that very purpose, in fact.”
“Who’s that?”
“Brother Jeremiah.”