Abandon Read online

  “Glad to hear it.” She didn’t seem to make any effort to hide her sarcasm, but bitterness wasn’t in her nature. She sighed. “Damn it, Rook. What’s going on?”

  He noticed a six-inch length of spent packing tape on the floor and scooped it up, dropping it into an empty box set against the wall, next to the full ones. “Last night at Judge Peacham’s…Mac—you were holding back on her. She knew it. She just didn’t want to pressure you in front of me.”

  “You FBI mind readers.”

  “If it’s something I need to know, I want it. Now would be a good time.”

  Mackenzie jumped to her feet, but gave a small moan and reached for her side. “Okay, so I can’t do sudden moves to throttle FBI agents just yet. Give me a couple more days.”

  “Mac—”

  “Whatever I told or didn’t tell Beanie last night is personal.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It was a simple, pointed question that made her snap her mouth shut. “Cal stopped here and asked me about Harris before I left for New Hampshire. Have those two cooked up something that’s got the attention of the FBI?”

  “Mac,” Rook said, then sighed. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  An awkward silence descended between them.

  She started for the door, presumably to see him out, but Rook touched her arm, felt the same spark of attraction he’d experienced when they’d first met, and acted on it. He curved his fingers under her chin and traced her lower lip with his thumb. “Mac.” He sighed once more, shaking his head. “Damn. I wasn’t going to kiss you again.”

  She didn’t resist or tell him no or shove him out the door when his mouth found hers. Instead, she kissed him back. He could feel her eagerness—the spark of desire in her. If not for her bandaged side, he’d have slipped his arms around her and drawn her closer to him, let her feel his reaction to her, her touch, the taste of her.

  “You’re complicating my life, Rook,” she said, then kissed him again.

  He felt a shudder of arousal. “You’re not exactly simplifying mine.”

  As she stood back from him, her very blue eyes met his. “I don’t like setting myself up to be hurt.”

  He smiled. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

  She opened the door for him. Outside, the rain was steady now, falling softly, without wind, thunder, lightning. There was no front moving through to push out the heat and humidity. The light from the porch hit her face, bringing out the dark smudges under her eyes. It had only been five days since Mackenzie Stewart had found herself in a fight for her life—not enough time, Rook thought, for anyone to expect her to be back to normal, especially with her attacker still out there.

  He walked past her and stepped onto the porch.

  She remained in the doorway. “I’ve known Beanie Peacham all my life. I don’t trust many people, but I trust her.”

  “What would you do for her?” Rook asked.

  “She’s never asked anything from me.”

  “Maybe she knows she doesn’t have to ask.”

  He expected a hot reaction, but Mackenzie didn’t rise to his bait. “You mean because I anticipate her wishes? That’s not the case. It just isn’t. I’m not being defensive, and I’m not in denial.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You don’t like her.”

  Rook smelled earth and some kind of flowers on the rain, and he thought of ghosts, wondered if they ever ventured out across the plush grounds, among the tall, old trees. Man. What’s wrong with you?

  He shook off thoughts of ghosts and focused on the woman in the doorway. He hated to abandon her—but what the hell else could he do? When Harris Mayer had pointed her out at the hotel last week, Rook had expected backing off from her wouldn’t be difficult. But he was wrong, and in the days since he’d left her the voice mail canceling dinner, he’d only found himself more attracted to her.

  And yet he knew better than to underestimate this woman—to take her bandaged side and her response to him as vulnerability.

  “I think Judge Peacham looks at you and sees the eleven-year-old, traumatized and guilt-ridden about her father’s accident,” he said. “And maybe the academic she’d hoped you’d become.”

  “I did become,” Mackenzie said.

  “Did she approve of your career change?”

  “No one did. Beanie’s not alone in that one.”

  “Why…”

  “Why did I become a marshal?” Mackenzie grinned so suddenly, so unexpectedly that Rook felt gut-punched. “Because I didn’t want to write my dissertation.”

  “Did your students always laugh at your jokes?”

  “Always. You law enforcement types—not so much.” But her eyes turned serious, and she said, “I wanted to catch bad guys and help keep people safe. That’s it. That’s why I filled out my application.”

  “It’s as valid a reason as any I’ve ever heard.”

  “Why did you become an FBI agent?”

  He shrugged. “It never occurred to me to do anything else. Mac—”

  “I can’t make love with these damn stitches,” she said quietly, quickly. “So, just say good-night.”

  Rook didn’t move. He could see what she was thinking. “Mac, making love to you isn’t just unfinished business that I need to take care of and then move on. I’m not that big a cad.” He stepped closer to her. “We can go a little further, even with the stitches. I won’t hurt you.”

  “What?”

  But she took his hand and backed into the kitchen, and he brought his palm to her breast, her eyes on him, liquid, certain, stripping away his reserve. “How could I have thought I could just walk away?”

  She smiled, moving against his palm. “Don’t think about that now.”

  He raised her shirt and heard her breath catch as he unclasped her bra and skimmed his fingertips across her hardening nipples, the soft skin of her breast. His senses flooded with the smell of her, the feel of her. She reached a hand into his hair, moaning softly as he teased and tantalized, then, careful of her bandaged side, lifted her bra and shirt over her head and cast them onto the floor.

  “Rook,” she whispered, tightening her fist in his hair, then letting go. “Andrew…”

  He gazed at her, taking in the milky skin, the curve of her breasts, the flat stomach, the flare of hips, wanting her, aching for her, his need a jolt to his system.

  “Mac.”

  His voice was strangled, and he gave up, slipped his hands around her, high, avoiding her injury. Her skin was cool now, creamy under his touch. Everything about her aroused him, absorbed him. He kissed her neck, moving lower, lost in the scent of her, the taste of her, as tongue and teeth explored, lingered, pushed her to soft moans of pleasure. He felt her falter slightly, but they both stayed on their feet.

  Her skin heated, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, giving a small cry, a gasp of need and frustration. When he rose up, her lips were parted, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, letting her know just how aroused he was. But she found out for herself, dropping a hand between them, skimming her fingers across him, locating his zipper, lowering it. She slipped her hand inside. He was hard, throbbing against her touch.

  He growled into her mouth. “Mac—hell.”

  She smiled boldly. “Do you want me to stop?”

  But his body answered for him, and she gulped in a breath, her smile gone now, her mouth on his again as she reached deep and took the length of him. He fought for air, kissing her, teasing her nipples with his thumbs in the same rhythm she used on him. When she quickened her pace, he eased one hand down the smooth skin of her back and into her pants, along the curve of her buttocks.

  His urgency mounted, but he forced a pause, looked into her eyes, which were a dusky blue now, brimming with need and desire. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not…oh.” She moved against his hand. “Trust me.”

  His fingers reached her hot, moist center, and her grip on him faltered slightly. He
didn’t stop. He flicked, pushed, circled his fingers around her, into her, probing, as she responded, moving against them, onto them. She worked her own magic and torture with her hand, capturing, stroking, faster, then faster yet.

  “Mac, I can’t hold on.” He could hardly breathe, never mind talk.

  “Then don’t, because neither can I.”

  Her body shuddered and she cried out, her grip slackening. But she didn’t let go. She stiffened against him, and he could feel her willpower as she regained her hold. With her next brutal stroke, he used every ounce of self-control to keep himself from exploding.

  Not now. At the moment, he thought, it was enough for him to pleasure her.

  His time would come.

  He thrust his fingers deep into her, as insistent and brutal as she’d been with him, watching her eyes close as she gave in to the sensations. She grasped his shoulders, bracing herself as her body rippled with release. Slick with perspiration, she collapsed against him, breathing hard into his neck.

  Finally, she stood back, utterly spent and as unembarrassed as he was.

  She scooped up her shirt and bra and grinned at him. “You really are a bastard, you know. Honestly. Making me be the only one who…” She didn’t finish.

  “Regrets?”

  She slapped him lightly with her shirt. “Not hardly.”

  “Your stitches—”

  “Intact. All intact. You didn’t hurt me, Andrew.” She slipped on her shirt, not bothering with the bra, and smiled at him. “I was never in pain.”

  He believed her. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “So when we were having coffee that night in the rain, you were thinking—”

  “Not then.”

  “You are such a bad liar.”

  He pulled himself together, then kissed her—softly this time, romantically. “Now,” he said, smiling, “we have unfinished business.”

  She let out a breath. “I think we just might.”

  On his way home, Rook drove too fast and was so agitated he almost missed his own damn driveway.

  His nephew was reading a gaming magazine and listening to his iPod at the kitchen table. Rook pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “How can you read and listen to music at the same time?”

  “What?”

  “How…” He sighed. “Take the damn headphones off and you’ll be able to hear me.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Brian grinned, removing the earbuds and hitting the pause button on his iPod. “Bad day?”

  “It had its moments. What about you?”

  “Just hanging out here. I ran the dishwasher and picked up my room.” He nodded toward the microwave. “I’ve got leftovers heating up.”

  Rook decided not to push him about his future plans. Brian’s father could tackle that problem. “What leftovers?”

  “I don’t know. I dumped a bunch of stuff I found in the fridge into the microwave. There’s enough for two, if you want.”

  In a brief flash, Rook saw his nephew’s loneliness and uncertainty. His friends from high school were off to college or had jobs, and Brian was in Arlington, eating leftovers with his uncle.

  Rook suddenly didn’t feel that great about his own life, either. He’d let his emotions get away from him with Mac, and he didn’t know what the hell came next. He was worried about her—but he was worried about himself, too, because tonight proved he had no self-control at all, not with her. Spotting her with Bernadette Peacham last week and seeing a potential conflict between his professional and personal lives, he’d thought he’d put on the brakes in his usual efficient, objective manner.

  But he hadn’t. He was in a free fall.

  He got to his feet and took a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator. At least it was fresh. If it’d been stale, he’d have felt damn pathetic.

  When he filled two glasses with tea and turned back to the table, Brian had already stuck his earbuds in place and tuned into his music again.

  Eighteen

  Jesse entered the small campus auditorium just as a panel discussion on current issues in legal ethics—he liked that—let out. Four middle-aged men rose from chairs at a cheap table. Calvin Benton was on the left end, facing the audience of about fifty law students and professors. He shook hands with his fellow panelists, the polite applause fading quickly as people started filing out.

  Despite the intense police search for him in New Hampshire, Jesse had done nothing to conceal his identity. Beardless, clean, dressed in expensive clothes, out of context, he doubted even Mackenzie Stewart would recognize him, at least not from a quick glance. Up close, the way she’d been on Friday, was another matter. He could still see her now, in her bright-colored swimsuit, water dripping down her face as she’d tried to figure out what had caused the noise she’d heard.

  Stop, he told himself, pushing the image from his mind. He stiffened, shielding himself against any further intrusions of the redheaded marshal. She’d captivated him, but Deputy Stewart would love to put him behind bars, a fact that no amount of wishful thinking on his part could change.

  He walked down the center aisle and crossed in front of the stage to a side entrance. Cal, visibly pale, reluctantly joined him.

  “You’ve got nerve.” Benton’s voice was a low hiss, and he glanced behind him, as if making sure no one could see them together. “What are you doing here?”

  Jesse shrugged, enjoying Cal’s discomfort. “Sorry I missed the discussion. All finished now? No book signing?”

  “I don’t have a book.”

  “Your fellow panelists do.”

  “We’re not here to sell books.” Cal’s biting sarcasm and unrelenting arrogance were, Jesse figured, a fairly transparent attempt to conceal his fear. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Caught you by surprise, did I? I just want five minutes of your time. You and I have unfinished business.”

  Another panel member squeezed past them, saying good-night and complimenting Cal on his portion of the talk. Cal managed to return the compliment, but when the other man was out of earshot, he growled to Jesse, “Not here.”

  Amused by his discomfort, Jesse walked down the corridor to a corner and stood in front of a window overlooking a courtyard, where students, divided into small knots, ran through the rain. “Decent crowd for a hot summer night,” Jesse said mildly. “They’re all summer students?”

  “Not all—most. They’re participating in a special six-week program. As if you give a damn. Where’s Harris? I haven’t seen him in a week.”

  “Missing him, are you?”

  “He’s a coward. He’s probably gone into hiding until you and I have sorted things out ourselves. Unless you…” Cal narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I should just call the police and let them find Harris.”

  Jesse withdrew his cell phone from his pants pocket and held it out. “Go right ahead. I’ll wait.”

  Cal took in a breath, held it, then exhaled with a huff. “Bastard. You’d better hope no one with a cell phone is taking a picture of us right now. A stranger coming up to me. Tempting.”

  “You have to love Washington,” Jesse said. “Afraid you’re under surveillance?”

  “By whom? I’ve done nothing.”

  “You know Harris went to the feds.”

  The last color drained from Cal’s face. He cleared his throat and looked out the window evasively. “I don’t have any control over him. He’s as slimy as you are. I want to be rid of you both.”

  “We make a nice trio, don’t we? Our mutual friend met with the FBI last week. With a Special Agent Andrew Rook.”

  “If Harris gave the FBI anything, they’d be on us by now.”

  “I heard the feds searched his house today.”

  That got Cal’s attention. “Harris’s house?”

  “Apparently, they’re getting worried about him.”

  “Fine,” Cal said, rallying. “If he got cold feet and took off, that buys us more time t
o conclude our arrangements. The feds can spin their wheels looking for him all they want. They have no cause to dip into my affairs. And they don’t even know you exist.”

  Jesse pressed a fingertip to the window, as if trying to touch a raindrop.

  Cal gulped in a quick breath. “Go to Mexico, Jesse. Don’t risk Harris ratting you out to the FBI—never mind what I have on you. I can’t put you in prison. They can. Get out of Washington.” He was on a roll now, almost arrogant again. “Once I’m confident you’re holding up your end of our deal, I’ll hold up mine. I’ll wire you the money. I’ll stay out of your life.”

  “What about my identity, Cal? Can you wire me that?”

  “Your ‘identity,’ Jesse, is my insurance policy that you don’t ever darken my door again.” Cal gave him a cold look. “Did you have anything to do with the attack on Mackenzie Stewart in New Hampshire?”

  “What attack, Cal?”

  His face reddened, anger mixing with the arrogance now. “The police say a deranged drifter knifed her and another woman, in two separate attacks.”

  “Do I look like a deranged drifter?”

  Cal’s shoulders seemed to slump, as if he couldn’t maintain the arrogant-Washington-insider act another second, and he shook his head. “If Harris is playing games with the FBI, why don’t you and I just back off and leave each other alone? Call it a draw, Jesse. You have your leverage against me. I have mine against you—”

  “I don’t believe in draws.” Jesse made himself sound almost bored. “I believe in winning. You should know that, unless you haven’t found out everything about me, after all.”

  For a split second, Cal seemed ready to wilt, but then his experience and discipline clicked into gear, and he straightened, squaring his shoulders. “I wish I didn’t know anything about you. I want you out of my life. That’s all.” Cal kept his voice low, but he was visibly shaken, tense. “I don’t even want to know everything about you. Just drop out of Washington and go live your damn life. I’ll get you the money—trust me. I have no reason not to get it to you.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. I don’t like to be leveraged.”