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Authors: Christina M. Brashear
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suspected terrorist share? There had to be one. His fingers tapped at the steering wheel as his mind blazed with possibilities. Tobias had been certain Whittaker was hiding something. What could he have been hiding? Or could it have been who? The possibilities that came to mind terrified him.
He made a turn on Main Street and headed out of town, knowing that there were few places within the city limits to hide anyway. Too many gossips and nosy shopkeepers to spill the beans. The problem with small towns was that everyone knew your business, and where you took it. Made for interesting dinner conversation, but not secrecy. If someone was out to hide, or hide others, it would have to be farther into the mountains. That was most often considered no man’s land, the shadowed, mysterious world of Indian legends, illegal stills, and mountain folk.
Times had changed a lot though, Jackson told himself as he made the journey from the bustle of Jericho along the two lane road that led farther up the mountain. Even since he was a boy, civilization had begun to creep stealthily into the higher parts of the mountains. Electric lines, telephone cable, computers and cell phones were the norm now. Broken down shacks were replaced with modern frame houses, and pickups graced front yards and driveways of even the most uninhabitable reaches.
One such place was Jacob Riley’s cabin. It was a bitch and three quarters to get to, and if the cruiser Jackson had earmarked for the department wasn’t a four-wheel drive jeep, then he would have been making a hell of a long walk. But Jacob knew things. And 37
Lora Leigh and Veronica Chadwick
what he didn’t know, he could damned well find out. If there were terrorists hiding anywhere in those mountains, then he likely knew about it.
The jeep bounced over the long, pitted road up to Jacob’s cabin. The vehicle’s engine whined as it struggled over large rocks, eroded ditches and broken brush. He had told Jacob more than once that he needed the road graveled, perhaps even blacktopped, but it appeared he was still being ignored.
Finally, he pulled into a well kept driveway, grated, graveled and leveled, and shook his head in exasperation. The small log cabin sat on a slope above him, the windows dark, the door tightly closed.
Jackson got out of the jeep, moving quickly to the front door, when the first sounds penetrated. The hungry, gasping female moan was almost a shock. Hell, he thought Jacob was a monk of some kind. The sounds of pleasure rose as Jackson turned and walked to the back of the cabin.
He stopped at the side of the house, shaking his head as he pulled his glasses from his eyes and stared in shock at the scene before him. Jacob had a pretty little black-haired business type stretched over the picnic table, her narrow skirt around her waist, her white silk blouse opened. Hell, it looked like he’d cut her bra open rather than unhooking it from the back.
The woman’s deep black hair had escaped the knot that struggled to stay secure on the top of her head. Stray wisps clung in damp strands along her cheek and neck. A fine film of perspiration glazed the woman’s pale skin and Jacob’s broad naked back.
The woman’s legs were splayed wide, giving Jackson an unimpeded view of the soft flesh the mountain man was plowing vigorously into. The soft sounds of wet cunt and hard cock filled the air. Slapping flesh overlaid it, and adding to the arousing mix was the woman’s ever-increasing moans as Jacob drove her closer to climax.
Her hands were gripping Jacob’s arms, nails pressing into flesh. Her body arched, her full breasts, tipped with hard nipples and flushed with lust, were a damned tempting sight. Almost as pretty as Becca’s berry tipped breasts.
He felt a shade of discomfort at his voyeurism. But damn, it was just one of those sights you couldn’t look away from. He couldn’t believe that Jacob had allowed himself a second moment of vulnerability. The first had been
He made a turn on Main Street and headed out of town, knowing that there were few places within the city limits to hide anyway. Too many gossips and nosy shopkeepers to spill the beans. The problem with small towns was that everyone knew your business, and where you took it. Made for interesting dinner conversation, but not secrecy. If someone was out to hide, or hide others, it would have to be farther into the mountains. That was most often considered no man’s land, the shadowed, mysterious world of Indian legends, illegal stills, and mountain folk.
Times had changed a lot though, Jackson told himself as he made the journey from the bustle of Jericho along the two lane road that led farther up the mountain. Even since he was a boy, civilization had begun to creep stealthily into the higher parts of the mountains. Electric lines, telephone cable, computers and cell phones were the norm now. Broken down shacks were replaced with modern frame houses, and pickups graced front yards and driveways of even the most uninhabitable reaches.
One such place was Jacob Riley’s cabin. It was a bitch and three quarters to get to, and if the cruiser Jackson had earmarked for the department wasn’t a four-wheel drive jeep, then he would have been making a hell of a long walk. But Jacob knew things. And 37
Lora Leigh and Veronica Chadwick
what he didn’t know, he could damned well find out. If there were terrorists hiding anywhere in those mountains, then he likely knew about it.
The jeep bounced over the long, pitted road up to Jacob’s cabin. The vehicle’s engine whined as it struggled over large rocks, eroded ditches and broken brush. He had told Jacob more than once that he needed the road graveled, perhaps even blacktopped, but it appeared he was still being ignored.
Finally, he pulled into a well kept driveway, grated, graveled and leveled, and shook his head in exasperation. The small log cabin sat on a slope above him, the windows dark, the door tightly closed.
Jackson got out of the jeep, moving quickly to the front door, when the first sounds penetrated. The hungry, gasping female moan was almost a shock. Hell, he thought Jacob was a monk of some kind. The sounds of pleasure rose as Jackson turned and walked to the back of the cabin.
He stopped at the side of the house, shaking his head as he pulled his glasses from his eyes and stared in shock at the scene before him. Jacob had a pretty little black-haired business type stretched over the picnic table, her narrow skirt around her waist, her white silk blouse opened. Hell, it looked like he’d cut her bra open rather than unhooking it from the back.
The woman’s deep black hair had escaped the knot that struggled to stay secure on the top of her head. Stray wisps clung in damp strands along her cheek and neck. A fine film of perspiration glazed the woman’s pale skin and Jacob’s broad naked back.
The woman’s legs were splayed wide, giving Jackson an unimpeded view of the soft flesh the mountain man was plowing vigorously into. The soft sounds of wet cunt and hard cock filled the air. Slapping flesh overlaid it, and adding to the arousing mix was the woman’s ever-increasing moans as Jacob drove her closer to climax.
Her hands were gripping Jacob’s arms, nails pressing into flesh. Her body arched, her full breasts, tipped with hard nipples and flushed with lust, were a damned tempting sight. Almost as pretty as Becca’s berry tipped breasts.
He felt a shade of discomfort at his voyeurism. But damn, it was just one of those sights you couldn’t look away from. He couldn’t believe that Jacob had allowed himself a second moment of vulnerability. The first had been
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