walking away, their swagger no less pronounced despite the gun trained on their backs. She blinked at her rescuer, trying to somehow make him into Zac, but he wasn’t. He was too short and older than Zac. He shoved her purse at her without looking away from the men. “Get back in your car and drive away. You don’t belong here,” he said and started walking away, following her attackers.
He had a belly, but he held his back military-straight and the way he handled the gun was professional. The image of him in a marine uniform, holding his hat and informing her of Zac’s death flashed before her eyes. She jogged forward. “Wait!” she gasped. She wanted to grab his arm, but it was attached to the hand holding the gun, so she stopped in mid-lunge. “Wait. Where’s Zac?” she panted. “Ghost! Where’s Ghost?”
He turned and met her eye. “He’s not here,” he said and the relief she felt just to have him acknowledge the existence of Zac was almost greater than her relief at his timely rescue. “Get back in your car and drive away.” His head remained perfectly still, facing her, but his eyes roved alertly, as if he were taking in every possible threat. “Go home. Don’t come back again—Zac won’t come for you.” He turned and walked away again, as he had before, leaving her glued to the cement, frozen in the chill of his words. She fumbled for her inhaler, taking one puff, then another, willing her feet to move toward her car as her mind shut down all coherent thought.
She got into the car, buckled her belt, and started the engine, working her way out of her parking spot without caring who watched. She pulled out and stopped at a red light, which blurred into waves as hot tears flooded her vision.
Zac won’t come for you.
But why not? His choice or someone else’s? Was he still alive? Was he still monitoring her, or had someone else alerted this agent?
She went home and crawled into bed, hiding her head under the covers and blocking out all thought as she slid into dark, menacing dreams. She slept until noon, knowing Parker would be at his friend’s until evening and not feeling up to anything. She had to face it—Zac was not coming back into their lives. Depressed, she crawled out of bed and stood in the shower until it went cold, as if she might wash away all vestiges of the inane hope she’d been harboring.
Drying off, she walked back into the bedroom naked, gasped, and stopped cold. Zac sat on the edge of her bed, a grim expression on a face bruised and cut, his belt folded in his hand.
“You are in so much trouble,” he said.
* * *
Becca stared at him with wide eyes, flashes of shock, joy, and fear flying over her face. She gave a strangled bark of laughter as her eyes filled with tears. He dropped the belt as he stood and wrapped his arms around her. Her naked breasts pressed against his ribs, her bare skin so soft under his fingers. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered against her temple, kissing her citrus-smelling hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She gave a muffled giggle/sob into his shirt and he ran his palms up and down the smooth lines of her back, hoping his callused hands didn’t feel too rough. “Shh, baby. You’re all right. Just breathe.”
He planted little kisses across her temple and into her hair, cradling her face and holding her sweet, vulnerable form against him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I will find a way for you to contact me. I’ll figure something out.”
She gave another laughing sob.
He altered his voice from soothing to firm. “You don’t need to do anything as incredibly stupid as that again.” He slapped her ass with a resounding crack. She squeezed her cheeks together and pressed her hips closer to him. He slapped her again and again on the same cheek and she clung more tightly to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning into him as if for comfort despite the fact that it was he who was inflicting the pain. He
He had a belly, but he held his back military-straight and the way he handled the gun was professional. The image of him in a marine uniform, holding his hat and informing her of Zac’s death flashed before her eyes. She jogged forward. “Wait!” she gasped. She wanted to grab his arm, but it was attached to the hand holding the gun, so she stopped in mid-lunge. “Wait. Where’s Zac?” she panted. “Ghost! Where’s Ghost?”
He turned and met her eye. “He’s not here,” he said and the relief she felt just to have him acknowledge the existence of Zac was almost greater than her relief at his timely rescue. “Get back in your car and drive away.” His head remained perfectly still, facing her, but his eyes roved alertly, as if he were taking in every possible threat. “Go home. Don’t come back again—Zac won’t come for you.” He turned and walked away again, as he had before, leaving her glued to the cement, frozen in the chill of his words. She fumbled for her inhaler, taking one puff, then another, willing her feet to move toward her car as her mind shut down all coherent thought.
She got into the car, buckled her belt, and started the engine, working her way out of her parking spot without caring who watched. She pulled out and stopped at a red light, which blurred into waves as hot tears flooded her vision.
Zac won’t come for you.
But why not? His choice or someone else’s? Was he still alive? Was he still monitoring her, or had someone else alerted this agent?
She went home and crawled into bed, hiding her head under the covers and blocking out all thought as she slid into dark, menacing dreams. She slept until noon, knowing Parker would be at his friend’s until evening and not feeling up to anything. She had to face it—Zac was not coming back into their lives. Depressed, she crawled out of bed and stood in the shower until it went cold, as if she might wash away all vestiges of the inane hope she’d been harboring.
Drying off, she walked back into the bedroom naked, gasped, and stopped cold. Zac sat on the edge of her bed, a grim expression on a face bruised and cut, his belt folded in his hand.
“You are in so much trouble,” he said.
* * *
Becca stared at him with wide eyes, flashes of shock, joy, and fear flying over her face. She gave a strangled bark of laughter as her eyes filled with tears. He dropped the belt as he stood and wrapped his arms around her. Her naked breasts pressed against his ribs, her bare skin so soft under his fingers. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered against her temple, kissing her citrus-smelling hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She gave a muffled giggle/sob into his shirt and he ran his palms up and down the smooth lines of her back, hoping his callused hands didn’t feel too rough. “Shh, baby. You’re all right. Just breathe.”
He planted little kisses across her temple and into her hair, cradling her face and holding her sweet, vulnerable form against him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I will find a way for you to contact me. I’ll figure something out.”
She gave another laughing sob.
He altered his voice from soothing to firm. “You don’t need to do anything as incredibly stupid as that again.” He slapped her ass with a resounding crack. She squeezed her cheeks together and pressed her hips closer to him. He slapped her again and again on the same cheek and she clung more tightly to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning into him as if for comfort despite the fact that it was he who was inflicting the pain. He
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