Run the Risk (27 page)

“A terrific idea.” Alice could probably use a few friends. He
started to ask Pepper more about her, but he heard her breathing even into
sleep.

Logan smiled. His arm was badly swollen and hurt like a son of
a bitch, there was chaos at the station as the disloyal cops were exposed, and
he’d soon gain a headstrong, overprotective brother-in-law used to living on the
edge.

And still, he felt like the luckiest man alive. For the sake of
justice, he’d run the risk, and despite the odds, he’d ended up with love.

He ended up with Pepper.

As long as he had her, he had it all.

* * *

H
INDERED
BY
INDECISION
, Reese
stood outside Alice’s apartment door, his hand raised to knock while he warred
with himself.

Damn it, his apartment was off-limits. They had the body out,
but the blood, general destruction and bullet holes remained. Until the
department finished their reports, he didn’t want to disturb anything.
Exhaustion left him weaving on his feet. He was starting to see double, but he
wasn’t sure—

The door opened and there stood Alice, Cash beside her.

The dog leaped forward to greet him with his usual enthusiasm
and maybe something more, something like worry and relief. Reese stroked his
back. “Too much confusion, buddy? For me, too.”

Wearing a vintage-looking nightgown under a loosely fastened
robe, her feet bare and her hair rumpled, Alice watched him.

Best to just spit it out and take it from there. He opened his
mouth.

Alice said, “You can’t go to your apartment.”

His mouth closed. He scrutinized her and puzzled over her
uncanny ability to see things a timid woman should never notice. “No.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“Yes.”

Her mouth screwed up, her gaze dropped down his body, then shot
back to his face. She cleared her throat. “Why do you have an erection?”

A direct attack? Huh. Interesting…and somehow exciting. “Hell
if I know.” God, this was awkward. “But you don’t have to worry about that.”
Stupid. How could she not worry? She had all kinds of secretive shit going on,
and here he was, dead on his feet while his Johnson wanted to stand at
attention.

He’d been fighting a boner ever since pulling up to the
apartment with the realization that he’d
probably
have to impose on Alice for a place to crash, at least for a couple of days.

She rubbed at one eye but came to a quick decision. Handing
Cash’s leash to him, she said, “Let him out while I make up the couch for
you.”

“I won’t be in your way?”

“I made the guest room into my office, so for the most part,
you’ll be undisturbed.”

“I was worried about
you
being
disturbed.” He was so tired, he could sleep through a train wreck.

Her face colored a pretty pink, intriguing him further.

The blush lifted his exhaustion, encouraged his libido, and
made it near impossible to get his physical reactions under control.

She glanced at his lap again, then quickly away. “Take Cash
out, then you can sleep. And afterward…I suppose we have to talk.”

Reese smiled at her. “I can hardly wait.” He started to go but
thought better of it and caught the door before she could shut it. “You aren’t
just waiting for me to walk off so you can lock me out?”

For the longest time she stared at his feet. Finally, she
lifted her chin. “Truthfully, Detective, I’d as soon not spend the day alone
anyway.”

Was it memories that wrought that confession? “Then I’m glad
I’m here.”

She pulled her robe tighter around her, nodded and whispered,
“Odd as it seems…so am I.” Gently, she closed the door in his face. He listened
for the sound of a lock clicking into place but heard nothing.

“Great,” Reese said to the dog as he led him down the steps and
out the front door. “Isn’t it just like a woman to get in a parting shot
guaranteed to keep a guy stirred up?” Cash made a noise that, to Reese and his
tired brain, sounded like agreement. “We’re going to have our hands full dealing
with that one.”

But damn if he wasn’t already looking forward to it.

* * * * *

Don’t miss Reese’s story,
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CHAPTER ONE

A
RIZONA
STORM
SAT
quietly on the overstuffed
chair, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees, her fingers laced together around
her shins.

Waiting.

In the quiet, shadowed room, she breathed in the unique aroma
of aftershave and gun oil, and the headier scent of warm male. On the back of
the chair behind her he’d tossed his jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. Close at hand
on the nightstand, he’d placed his freshly cleaned gun and his deadly
switchblade.

His discarded boxers lay on the floor.

He fascinated her.

After breaking into his house, she’d removed her sneakers and
put them next to his boots by the front door. The air-conditioning, set on high,
left her toes cold, but he’d covered himself with no more than a thin sheet.

Again and again, her gaze tracked over him, from one big foot
sticking out over the side of the bed, up and over his flat, solid abs covered
by the snowy-white sheet, to his chest—not covered by anything except enticing
body hair.

With one arm behind his head, his underarm and the dark tuft of
hair there were visible. Seeing that almost made him look vulnerable—except
that, despite his relaxed pose, the positioning of his long arm made a thick
biceps bulge.

At nearly six and a half feet tall, solidly built and finely
sculpted, Spencer Lark was one of the biggest, strongest, most impressive men
she’d ever met.

And she knew some really prime specimens.

His long lashes shadowed his high cheekbones, but that didn’t
detract from the bruising beneath one eye. A recent fight? She smiled while
picturing it, sure that Spencer had come out ahead. His skill at fighting
intrigued her even more than his big bod.

Amazing, but even his slightly crooked nose held her rapt. When
and how had he broken it?

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh that,
given the silence in his home and Spencer’s acute instincts, disturbed his
slumber.

Arizona admitted to herself that maybe she’d wanted to wake
him. After all, she’d been watching him—and waiting—for a while now.

His head turned on the pillow, his legs shifted.

Holding herself perfectly still, she waited to see if he’d
awaken, what he’d do, what he’d say. She didn’t know him all that well, and
yet…she did.

Sort of.

They’d met nearly a month ago while they were both on a sting.
Immediately, they’d butted heads, and he’d infuriated her by interfering with
her life.

But worse, he’d robbed her of the revenge she desperately
craved.

Sure, he had his own need for revenge, so she understood his
motives. She didn’t forgive him. Not yet, anyway.

But she did understand.

At least, she thought she did. Once they talked it over, then
she’d decide for sure.

He made a soft, gravelly sound as he stretched that long,
strong body. His chin tucked in. Muscles flexed.

The sheet tented.

Eyes widening, Arizona stared, not really alarmed, but no
longer so at ease, either. She had a very dark history with aroused men, so she
doubted she’d ever be unaffected by them. But she didn’t let it get in her way,
not when she wanted something, not when she had a goal in mind.

She knew she should have taken Spencer’s gun, at the very least
moved it out of his reach. But instead she’d found him in the bed, and before
she’d even thought it through, she’d taken the empty seat and settled in to
study him while he slept.

Since that fateful day when her destiny had been stolen from
her, she’d seen him only a handful of times. She’d tried to stay away. She’d
tried to forget about him.

She hadn’t been successful.

Stretching, he brought his hand out from behind his head,
around to rub over his hair, across his face, down his chest.

As he gave a sleepy, growling groan, that hand disappeared
under the sheet.

Arizona’s lips parted, and her heartbeat tripped up. She
cleared her throat. “Spence?”

Freezing, without moving any other body part, he opened his
eyes and met her gaze.

She frowned at him.

He didn’t look super-startled, and he said nothing. He just
stared at her.

With his hand still under there.

“Yeah…” Semi-satisfied with his frozen reaction, she nodded at
his lap. “You weren’t going for a little tug, were you? Because as your
spectator, I’d just as soon not see it.”

He brought his hand out and put it back behind his head, still
silent, still watching her. Almost…relaxed.

His gaze was so dark, so compelling, she felt like squirming,
damn it. “I mean, I guess I could wait in the other room if it’s really
necessary. That is, if you don’t take too long.”

He disappointed her by not reacting. As if he often woke to an
uninvited woman playing voyeur in his bedroom, he looked her over, from her bare
toes up to her long, wind-tangled hair.

“Been here long?”

“Maybe half an hour or so.” Curiosity prompted her to ask,
“Were you going to…you know?” She nodded at his lap.

“Most men say hi to the boys first thing.”

“Say hi?”

With no sign of discomfort, he shrugged one shoulder. “You
broke in.”

A statement, not a question. She gave her own casual shrug.
“Since you’re not dumb enough to leave the place unlocked, yeah, I had to.”

He turned his head, but not to check on the time. He saw the
gun still on the nightstand where he’d left it and brought his gaze back to hers
again. “You know how to make coffee?”

One eyebrow lifted high. “Trying to get me out of the room so
you can leave the bed? I’m not squeamish, you know. I mean, with my background,
I’ve seen plenty of—”

He threw off the sheet and sat up, effectively shutting down
her snide retort.

Ho boy.

“If you don’t know how to make coffee, just say so.” Spencer
stretched again, harder, longer this time. Sitting on the side of the bed, he
snagged up his boxers and stepped into them. As he stood, he pulled them up.

They fit like a glove.

He still had a tent going.

And she still stared.

He picked up the gun and, betraying some trust issues, checked
to make sure she hadn’t unloaded it. Discovering she hadn’t touched it at all,
he nodded in satisfaction.

As he passed her, he chucked her under the chin. “It’s called
morning wood, little girl. No reason for alarm.” Gun in hand, he went on past
her into the bathroom. The door closed quietly behind him.

Belatedly, Arizona shut her mouth. Oh, how she hated when he
called her “little girl.” As of today, she wasn’t quite as young as he thought,
and given her experiences, well, she hadn’t felt like a kid in a very long
time.

Her brows snapped down, and her spine stiffened. She would not
let him get to her. Huh-uh. No way.

This was
her
game. She would call
the shots, and if anyone had to be tongue-tied, it’d be him.

She shoved to her feet, but didn’t stomp. Excesses of emotion
gave away too much. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her.

At the bathroom door, voice cold and collected, she stated,
“I’ll be the kitchen.”

Minutes later, just to prove a point, she went about making
coffee.

* * *

S
PENCER
STOOD
WITH
his hands braced on the
porcelain sink, his head hanging, his muscles twitchy.

What the hell?

Sure, he knew Arizona Storm was a reckless, impetuous,
headstrong girl. He’d figured that out in the first few seconds of making her
acquaintance.

But breaking and entering?

Why the hell had she sat there watching
him sleep?

He felt…violated. Angry.

He felt extreme pity. For her.

Damn, but he didn’t want her, not in his house, not in his
head. He could control the first.

Hadn’t had much luck controlling the second.

Not trusting her to respect his privacy, knowing damn good and
well she would snoop without remorse, he gave up the idea of a shower and shave
and instead rushed through brushing his teeth, splashing his face and
finger-combing his hair.

Since she wasn’t in his bedroom anymore, he took the time to
pull on his jeans, but rather than mess with the holster, he just stuck the gun
in his waistband. He grabbed up his knife, opened it, closed it again and slid
it into his pocket.

Barefoot and shirtless, he went in search of Arizona—and he had
to admit, anticipation chased away the cobwebs of old memories and lack of
sleep.

Seeing her slumped in a kitchen chair, arms crossed, one foot
hooked behind a chair leg, jolted his senses even more.

God Almighty, she was a beauty.

Slim, long-legged and generously stacked, with a face like a
wet dream, Arizona would turn heads wherever she went. Dark, wavy hair hung down
her back, usually in disarray. Honey-colored skin seemed in direct contrast with
light blue, heavily lashed eyes. A full mouth, a strong chin, high
cheekbones…

He wondered at the mixed heritage that had produced such a
dream.

As he stood unnoticed in the doorway, she chewed at a
thumbnail. Arizona didn’t wear makeup, or polish her nails, or do much of
anything to enhance her looks—and she didn’t need to. She could wear burlap and
men would burn for her.

“Nervous?”

She went still before affecting a bored expression and
swiveling her head to face him. “Do you always sleep ’til noon?”

“When I’ve been up all night, yes.” He made a beeline for the
coffeepot but didn’t thank her for making it. After all, she’d come in
uninvited. “You want a cup?”

“If you have sugar and milk.”

“Creamer.” He poured two cups and set them on the table, then
got the creamer from the fridge. The sugar bowl sat in the middle of the table,
framed by salt and pepper shakers.

Like many of the things in his kitchen, they resembled cows in
one way or another.

His wife had bought the novelty items years ago.

While blowing on the hot coffee, Spencer ruthlessly quashed bad
memories. Arizona loaded her coffee with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a
liberal splash of the cream.

He watched her lush mouth as she sipped, sipped again.

Shaking himself, he took a drink, and nearly choked. Strong
enough to peel the lining from his throat, it was the worst coffee he’d ever
tasted. Arizona didn’t seem to notice, though, so he manned up and drank without
complaint.

The overdose of caffeine would do him good.

Silence dragged out while they each gave attention to their
coffee. He wouldn’t be the first to break.

Finally she eyed him. “How come you were out late?
Carousing?”

Actually, he’d needed to expend some energy for reasons he
wouldn’t yet examine too closely. Shrugging, he said, “I hit up a bar, found a
little trouble.” He looked at her. “You know how it is, right?”

To his disgruntlement, she nodded. “Yeah, I did the same. But I
fared better than you.” Her mouth quirked in a small grin, and she winked. “No
black eye.”

Had she really been in a bar? Looking for trouble?

Again?

He didn’t need to defend himself, not to her, but still he
said, “You should see the other three guys.”

“Yeah? Only three?” Tsking, she let her gaze drift over him.
“Any other bruises?”

“No.”

She propped her chin on a fist. “One lucky punch, huh?”

Did she have to appear so amused by idiotic drinking and
brawling? “Something like that.” Actually it was a thrown chair that had caught
him, but whatever. He wouldn’t encourage her with details. “So tell me, little
girl. What were you doing in a bar?”

She looked away. With one finger, she traced the rim of her
coffee cup. “Sometimes,” she said low, her voice almost whimsical, “I just need
a distraction.”

His chest tightened. He waited to see if she’d elaborate, if
she’d share details of her tragic background with human traffickers. She had a
need to even the score with people already dead, the monsters who’d hurt her
badly.

Suddenly she leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”

Damn, he didn’t want to play these games. “Depends.”

She scowled. “On what?”

“On whether or not keeping it is in your best interest.”

Sitting back in irritation, she demanded, “Why does that
concern you?”

He countered with, “Why do you want to tell me?”

For long moments they stared at each other, and then she broke.
“Fuck it. I don’t. Not anymore.” After downing the rest of her coffee, she
scraped back her chair. “I’m outta here.”

Spencer caught her wrist. And of course, that got her
going.

Quick temper and a boulder-size chip on her shoulder had her
swinging a fist. He dodged it, but she kicked and caught him in the shin.
Luckily she didn’t wear shoes, so it didn’t hurt.

Much.

In the ensuing scuffle, his coffee cup hit the floor and
broke.

Given they were both barefoot, he did the expedient thing and
tossed her over his shoulder. Clamping a hand over her thighs, he warned, “Bite
me, and I swear to God, you won’t like the consequences.”

Rather than struggle, she braced her elbows on his back.
“You’ve threatened me before.”

“Because you’ve attacked me before.” Stepping over and around
the mess on his floor, he went into the hallway, then figured, what the hell,
and went on into the living room.

He dumped her on the couch.

She bounded right back off again.

Another scuffle, and damn it, it was too early and he was too
tired to put up with it.

“Arizona!” He locked her in close in a now familiar hold—at
least with her—keeping her back to his chest, her arms pinned down. He squeezed
her tight enough to steal her breath. “Knock it off already, will you?”