Flirting with Disaster

Once she was out of sight of the crowd, Isabelle slowed down, but she had to force it. She wanted to run. If she’d had her car, she’d probably have sprinted straight for it and left rubber on the road as she sped out of town. But she didn’t have her car. She was meeting Lauren in thirty minutes so they could have lunch before Lauren drove her home.

She put one foot in front of the other and skirted the rear of the courthouse and then worked back around to the post office.

After giving a wan smile to the clerk, who was ready with a wave, Isabelle got her mail and took it to the recycling box to ditch the junk mail. It was all junk mail. Even the one piece that caught her eye and made her hands start to tremble.

Her name and address were typed, and it looked like any other piece of marketing, except that there was a stamp in place of printed postage. And there was no return address.

She turned the envelope over. It shook in her hand. The return address was printed on the back, but with no name or company logo.

Though she meant to throw it away, her shaking hand reached for the flap of the envelope and slowly worked it open. She pushed up her shades as she pulled out the single piece of paper and unfolded it.

At first, she couldn’t quite see the words. She couldn’t focus. Then she started reading and still couldn’t decipher them. It took her three attempts to read through the half page of text before she realized that it wasn’t from her father. It was only a marketing letter from a Realtor who was fishing for seasonal rentals.

The soft sound that came from her own throat frightened her. Isabelle carefully tore the letter into long strips and dropped each of them into the trash can next to the recycling box. The letter had done nothing to her, but she wanted it gone, not recycled into something else.

She’d always told everyone that her father had never contacted her after he’d run. That he’d never been in touch. She’d sworn that was the truth to every federal officer who’d questioned her and every shady Chicago cop who’d shown up at her place with a creepy smile and assurances that they were there to help. But it hadn’t been the truth.

From the moment he’d disappeared, he’d sent letters. A week of peace would go by. Maybe two. And then she’d get another letter disguised as junk mail in case anyone was watching the mailbox.

He’d pretend to be apologizing or explaining or just sending his love, but he’d always asked for money. Always. She’d sent a little, but after the fourth or fifth letter that she’d refused to reply to, he’d become less apologetic and more aggressive. How can you do this? I’m sorry about everything, but I’m still your father. I need help. You owe me that.

She hadn’t owed him anything. After twenty-two years of being his daughter, she hadn’t even known who he was. She’d thought he was a hero, but he’d killed at least one fellow officer, stolen money from countless others, and he’d brought dangerous people into Isabelle’s life. Isabelle had hated him.

But none of this had to do with today. He wasn’t back. He hadn’t found her. And her immediate terror was pissing her off.

She sorted through the rest of her mail to be sure it was all junk, then tossed it in the trash. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a scared girl. She’d left all that behind. She’d walked away from it. She’d made a damn decision, and she’d pulled it off.

“Screw it all,” she muttered. Then she slipped her shades back on and stepped back out into the day. She forced herself to walk toward the courthouse instead of avoiding it. She put the swing back in her step, and she didn’t shy away from the news trucks as she made her way through the crowd.

And she was glad she didn’t, because that was the moment she spotted Tom.

In action, he was just as hot as she thought he’d be. His dark gray suit showed off strong shoulders and a slim waist. He wore shades against the bright sun, too, and some sort of earpiece. Leaning in to speak to a man dressed in similar fashion, Tom looked like Secret Service or FBI or something way more urbane than a US marshal.

Damn it. He was sexy.

She saw the moment he noticed her, despite the dark shades hiding his eyes. His head cocked. One expressive eyebrow rose. His lips stopped moving. But for only a moment. He resumed talking, but his head followed Isabelle’s movement down the sidewalk. She raised her chin. Better to think about him watching her than to consider the chaos surrounding both of them.

She’d recognized his attractiveness even when she’d been suspicious of him, but after talking with Lauren about him last night, her awareness had sharpened. She liked the way he looked and moved. She liked his voice. She even liked the way he smelled. His profession was a drawback, but it had somehow ceased to be a deal breaker. In fact, maybe it was a turn-on. The danger. Tempting fate. It was stupid, but she suddenly felt alive.

Hell, she’d been complaining for months that she wanted a hot fantasy man to show up on her doorstep and show her a good time. This man had literally shown up on her doorstep, and she’d be an idiot not to at least entertain the idea. Or so Lauren had told her.

Her mouth refused to hold back a smile when Isabelle remembered Lauren’s assessment of his ass. Something about it being truly bitable.

Isabelle tipped her head toward him just as he turned to gesture toward the courthouse. His suit jacket tightened against his backside with the movement.

She let her smile widen. His ass did look bitable. It was taut and just round enough to make her want to squeeze it. God, she did love a nice male ass. And it had been so long since she’d dug her nails into one.

She walked on, grinning at the sidewalk in front of her and hoping he had a good view of her own ass from where he was working.

“Isabelle,” he called.

Telling herself not to look too pleased, she turned to see him walking toward her.

“I figured you were too busy to talk,” she said.

“I am, but there’s been a delay in the defense counsel getting here, so we’re in a holding pattern. A cattle truck jackknifed on the highway.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like a setup to me.”

He smiled, and the way the shades hid his eyes made him look dangerous. “Believe me, if it was the prosecutor’s car, I’d be on my way out there with lights flashing. But the defense is on their own.”

“Cruel. And the cows?”

“I gather they’re fine. Regardless, we don’t have the manpower to offer them protection.”

His head rose, and he seemed to give a quick scan to the area before smiling down at her again, his attention tipping a little lower this time. This was a different Tom. He was...almost flirty. And totally confident. “I hope you locked up before you left last night.”

Ah. So he’d noticed she was wearing the same thing. Good. Let him wonder if she’d gone home with someone. Let him wonder what she was like in bed. “I locked the door. I’ll let you know if there’s any trouble when I get home.”

“All right.”

“I’d better let you get back to work,” she said, stepping away with a little wave. “Nice suit, by the way.”

He looked down, brows twitching up in surprise. “Thanks.”

She couldn’t resist drawing it out a little more. She’d fought off her panic, and now she felt powerful. Maybe a little reckless. “Are you going to stop by tonight and check on me?”

He’d been sweeping the area again, but his face tipped back to her. “If you’d like me to.”

She shrugged. “You’re probably busy,” she said casually before walking on. “Good luck with this circus.”

He didn’t reply, but she could feel his gaze on her as she left. Isabelle barely even noticed the loud drone of the crowd around her as she moved through them. She was too busy swinging her ass.

* * *

“K-9 SAYS THE parking lot is clean.”

Tom wiped the frown from his face and immediately spun to follow Mary as she moved through the crowd. She parted groups of people with just a look.

“They’re stationed at the door?” he asked.

She nodded. The K-9 unit had cleared the judge’s home first as a precaution, and they’d been working over the entire courthouse since six this morning, the two dogs taking turns so they weren’t overwhelmed.

“Forensics?” Tom asked.

“Fingerprints confirm it’s him.”

Saul Stevenson hadn’t bothered disguising his handwriting or keeping his prints off the paper last time, either. He wanted them to know who he was.

Mary glanced over her shoulder as they neared the building. “Postmark is Helena, three days ago.”

They both flashed their badges at the security team, despite that they knew every member. It was important that no one get lax.

Tom had gone over the schedule for the day four times already. He trusted his team, and he’d briefed local law enforcement himself. There wasn’t much to do now except watch and wait. The threat was likely just a scare tactic. If Saul Stevenson meant to actually plant a bomb, he’d be stupid to give them a heads-up. Then again, maybe he was stupid.

But it was more likely that the bomb threat was a diversion, meant to draw attention away from his true intentions. “Hannity is sweeping rooftops now?” he asked Mary as they entered the meeting room.

“He’s almost done.”

“A sniper shot would be a hell of a lot simpler for him to pull off than a bomb.”

“Maybe he wants the drama of an explosion, though.”

Tom nodded, but the buzz of his phone in his pocket cut off his next words. His thoughts immediately flashed on Isabelle, her smile teasing and her clothes advertising that she hadn’t bothered going home last night. Not to her place, anyway. She’d slept somewhere else.

But when he drew his phone from his pocket, there was no incoming call from the mysterious Isabelle West. It was only his sister. He winced and put it away.

“What is it?” Mary asked.

“My sister.”

He thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. Mary had been invited to dinner at his sister’s place too many times.

“Why are you avoiding Wendy?”

“I’m not avoiding her,” he answered. “I’m busy.”

“Maybe she needs something.”

He glanced up to find Mary leaning against the wall, arms crossed in that stubborn way that said she wasn’t going anywhere. “Aren’t you always telling me not to worry about my family? If she needs something, she’ll call back.”

“I’m also always telling you that one dinner a month is not enough time with your family.”

Tom rolled his shoulders. “I need to send a few emails,” he muttered.

She didn’t move.

“Okay, I’ll text her,” he grumbled, getting his phone back out to let Wendy know he’d call her in a couple of days.

Once he’d hit Send, Mary gave up her stance and sat down at her own computer. He felt bad shutting her out, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

It was his brother’s birthday, and Wendy always called. He always avoided the call. His sister was like his parents. She considered Michael’s death a sad accident. Tom considered it a tragedy that could’ve been averted if anyone had done anything to try to stop it. If they’d even acknowledged his addiction just once, maybe his brother would be alive.

He couldn’t talk to Wendy about how sad it all was, because he wasn’t sad. He was pissed. At Michael. At his parents. Even at Wendy when she wanted to call and reminisce. And he loved his family too much to tell them how angry it still made him.

His parents had done the best they knew how. Tom understood that. He’d even told them that. But he couldn’t say it on Michael’s birthday. Not on this day. So he’d call Wendy tomorrow, and today he’d think about something else.

He meant to turn his mind to Saul Stevenson, retreating into his work as he always did, but for once it was no escape. Isabelle West kept intruding, her ass swaying as she glanced over her shoulder.

Tom smiled at the memory and figured that was as good an escape as any.

CHAPTER SIX

ISABELLE SLIPPED ON FLIP-FLOPS, tugged on her gloves and glared menacingly at her messy kitchen. “It is on,” she growled, trying to pump herself up as she held the yellow latex gloves high in the air like a surgeon prepping for an operation.

She paused and frowned. “Music,” she muttered, looking around. She needed music first. Slipping off the gloves, she went in search of her phone and the stereo connector.

Thirty minutes later, she’d finally gotten the music hooked up, tracked down the gloves she’d set down somewhere during the search for the auxiliary cable, and she was poised in front of her kitchen again. “Let’s do this.”

Lauren had called with the news that afternoon. Sophie had just ridden into town and girls’ night in was a go for the next day. It was time to catch up and get drunk, not necessarily in that order. But drinking or not, no one wanted to look at the week-old macaroni noodles stuck to her stove burner. Isabelle didn’t want to look at them, either, which was why she’d been ignoring them this whole week.

But the loud music got her dancing and singing and sipping beer as she worked, and before long the kitchen was gleaming.

She moved on to the living room, tossing out magazines she’d been hoarding for months and scaring Bear out of the corner, making him hiss in fury before he disappeared into a back room. “You’re the one leaving fur everywhere!” she yelled after him. He didn’t deign to reply.

It was a good thing he’d taken off, though. She had to vacuum the rug, and if she dared to do that near him, he’d disappear for a week. They were too much alike, she and Bear.

She was feeling good tonight, though. Really good. That chaotic scene at the courthouse had actually soothed her fears. This whole thing with the judge truly was a big deal. Tom hadn’t lied about why he was sneaking around the neighborhood and knocking on doors. This had nothing to do with her, and her relief was bubbling over into giddiness. She danced around with the vacuum, singing along to Elvis Costello at the top of her lungs.

It took her only a few minutes to vacuum, but after she brought in wood from the porch and piled it next to the fireplace, she had to vacuum again. Before she was done with the second pass, Bear was screeching. Loudly. She glanced over to see him stretched up on his tiptoes, clawing at the front door. She shook her head. He kept clawing.

“Stop that!” she yelled over the vacuum. He ignored her then yowled louder when she switched off the vacuum.

“You know it’s dangerous out there,” she scolded. “There are coyotes. Mountain lions. Foxes.”

He shot her a nasty look. Yeah. He could probably take a fox. And maybe a coyote.

“There are cars sometimes,” she tried. He didn’t relent. “All right, Bear, but please come home. Don’t get lost. Okay?”

He paced in front of the door until she opened it, then shot through the narrow space, his massive body forcing its way through. “Rude,” she snapped then lunged back in shock when she saw the dark shadow looming above her.

“God!” she screamed, reaching toward the door to push it closed again.

* * *

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ask who it is before you answer,” Tom said as she caught the door at the last minute and glared at him.

The terror on Isabelle’s face quickly narrowed into irritation. “Yeah, no shit!” She snapped on the outside light. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Sorry. I knocked.”

She waved weakly toward the living room. “I had a lot of stuff going on.”

“I noticed.” He’d noticed when he’d pulled up and seen her dancing in the living room window, both with the vacuum and without it. Between the warm light shining around her in the dark and the tight orange tank top clinging to her breasts, she’d been a fucking vision. He’d watched for only a minute, though. Then he’d started to feel like a creep.

By the time he’d gotten to the porch, there’d been shouting and feline howling, plus the loud music, and all of it roaring over the vacuum.

“Elvis Costello,” he said as she closed the door behind him. “Nice.”

“He’s great to clean to. You want a beer?”

“Not today. Too much going on.”

“Well, I need something cold. I’m hot as hell.”

Yeah, he’d noticed that, too. Her cheeks were pink, and there was the faintest hint of moisture glinting off her cleavage when she moved. Jesus. He tried to look away, but then she raised her arms to pull her hair off her neck and twist it up. Her breasts rose with the movement. His eyes didn’t.

“Come on,” she said, turning away and breaking the spell. She grabbed something metal off a table as they passed and stuck it into the knot she’d made of her hair.

“The place looks nice,” he said, following the sway of her hips to the kitchen and trying to keep his mind off her curves and on the real reason he’d come.

“Thanks. I’m having a little girls’ party tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

Her head popped up over the open fridge door. “Did Jill invite you?” She didn’t sound exactly pleased.

“To girls’ night? No. But we got word from Veronica Chandler that she’d like to come.”

“Oh, that’s right. Lauren told me she was going to invite her. Are you okay with it?”

He nodded. He was more than okay with it, because it would give him an excuse to poke around this place some more. To solve this mystery. The longer he knew her, the more he thought she was hiding from something, and the more he wanted to help. “We’ll have to send a couple of agents along with her, though. We’ll try to stay out of your way.”

Her eyes narrowed a little. “I don’t want strangers in my house.”

“I’ll do it myself, if you’re more comfortable. And my second-in-command is a woman. I could bring her.”

She shrugged one shoulder and opened a beer. “I suppose that would be all right. Veronica probably needs to get out of the house if she has a bunch of you people underfoot all the time.” Isabelle took a long draw of the beer then shivered a little as she wiped the bottle over her brow. Her nipples tightened. He watched, despite that his brain was screaming at him to look away. Look away! But God, they were...perfect.

“Are you staring at my breasts, Marshal Duncan?”

He jumped as if he’d been touched with a live wire. He couldn’t deny it, and he couldn’t excuse it. “Shit. Um. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged again, and to his complete shock, she smiled. “It’s all right. If you were standing there in workout shorts, I’d stare at your ass. I guarantee it. Your thighs, too.” Her gaze slid down his body to the aforementioned area, and Tom’s face flamed. He hoped to God the enthusiasm he could feel swelling his dick wasn’t enough to be noticeable.

“Plus...” Her gaze rose slowly back up until it met his. “I’ve got nice tits.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. She didn’t look coyly away. She watched him as though she wasn’t even flirting; she was only letting him know because it was true.

But she was flirting. Clearly. And Tom fucking liked it. He liked it more than he’d liked anything in a long while.

Isabelle wasn’t beautiful in some striking way, but there was something gorgeous about the way she held herself, the way she moved. As if she didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. You could accept her or you could move on, but either way, she’d still be here, in her place. This was where she belonged. Tom was the interloper, and it felt like an honor to be let in.

He looked at her hazel eyes, tight at the corners with amusement, and her too-strong nose, and that wide mouth, tipping up just a little at the edges. She was daring him. Tom knew he shouldn’t; he had a hundred reasons not to, but he still stepped forward and slowly raised a hand to her jaw. His fingers slid along her warm skin, tracing her, feeling the way her head tipped ever so slightly into his touch.

She rose to meet his mouth, and though he meant to keep it careful, she wasn’t interested in care. Her lips immediately softened against his, parting slightly, teasing him with her hot breath. Her tongue touched his mouth, one little lick of fire.

He couldn’t help his sound of surprise. Not surprise that she’d licked him, but that the heat of it shot through his body. Isabelle smiled against his mouth, and then she laughed. That was how he kissed her, taking a taste, touching his tongue against hers until her laugh turned to a groan, and she kissed him back.

Whoever she’d gone home with the night before hadn’t satisfied her, because she pushed up to take more of his mouth, more of his tongue. Her hand, cold from the beer, sneaked up his neck and into his hair, as if she’d hold him in place if he wanted to leave.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Slanting his mouth over hers, he gave her what she wanted with a deep, slow kiss. Their tongues slid against each other with a rhythm that had him rock hard in no time flat. He must have moved closer, because she eased back until her hips were caught by the kitchen counter.

He held her there, his hands sliding over those sexy hips, feeling the fascinating curve of her body from ass to waist. That primal geometry told his hands and cock and brain that this was right and good. Yes, they urged him, this was the best part of life. This curve and heat and her mouth open and taking him.

Only a minute ago he’d been mortified that she might notice her physical effect on him. Now he wanted her to feel it. He wanted to press his hips to hers and ease some of the ache in his cock. He wanted her to know what he needed, what she’d done.

But fuck... He lifted his head. “Fuck,” he murmured, hands still clutching her hips.

Her throaty laugh chased over his jaw. “Yeah. I agree. That was very nice.”

His laugh was a little more pained than hers. Then again, it’d been longer than a day since he’d done this. More like eight months. Not that he was counting.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek then his chin, and then her teeth closed gently over his bottom lip. “Mmm,” she murmured before letting him go. “Let’s do it again.”

“I can’t,” he said, but he kissed her anyway. He could control himself, no question. It was just that he didn’t want to. Not when she’d tugged him a little closer, so that those gorgeous breasts were pressed against him, and her mouth drew him deeper, and if he just pressed his hips a little tighter...

He groaned into the kiss as he eased away. “I can’t get distracted right now. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Am I distracting you?” Her smile told him she knew the answer, even before she pulled his hips into hers.

“You know you are.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure until just now.” She pressed snug against him.

Tom laughed, loving her boldness and the challenge in her eyes. “Thank God you’re not still uncertain.”

“No,” she said, pressing her hips tighter. “Not at all.” She raised one hand to slide it up his stomach to his chest, watching her hand explore until it disappeared beneath his suit jacket. “You feel really good.”

It had been a slow build before, starting with the sight of her, then her teasing, her taste, her curves. But this...this frank appreciation for his body? His heart thundered in his chest, and his cock was suddenly painfully hard. He wanted that hand of hers to slide lower. He wanted it to unzip his pants and curl around him and tighten. And he wanted her telling him how good it all was. So damn good.

“Isabelle,” he said, and just that, just her name, reminded him that he shouldn’t do this. “Stop trying to make me crazy.”

That husky laugh burst from her, and she gave him a friendly shove. “Fine. But only because you’re being cute.”

He didn’t feel cute. He felt bereft and a little betrayed that she wasn’t keeping his cock warm anymore. But that was what he’d requested, wasn’t it?

“As you can see,” she said as if normal conversation wasn’t difficult after that kiss, “everything around here is fine. You can get back to work.”