Hold on Tight (15 page)

She was simply grateful that he was here.

And so she dialed Lou’s number, started right in once she was put through to him—she didn’t let him speak, afraid she’d never be able to get it all out. “In light of what’s happening, it’s best that you take me off Josiah’s case. I’m pregnant. Chris Waldron’s the father. It happened long before this case opened, but still …”

“So the test Gary left you wasn’t a guess. He knows about your condition.”

“Yes. He went through my garbage.” She closed her eyes for a long second. When she opened them, she noted that Chris hadn’t moved from his position by the window, but she had no doubt he’d heard every word.

On the other end of the phone, Lou remained silent for a long moment, and then, “Give your most recent reports to Agent Cooper. Take all the time you need. And don’t you dare try to argue with me about surrounding you with protection now.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Lou.”

“Kendall’s on his way home.”

She glanced toward Chris, clarified, “They found Mark’s body?”

Chris stood a little straighter then, set his shoulders. She stared at his back as Lou spoke in her ear. “No autopsy yet, but they sent the preliminary findings.” He rattled them off and she noted that the coroner’s initial assessment was consistent with what Chris insisted he saw, the damage that had been inflicted through torture.

“Thanks, Lou. And I’d like to insist that Josiah have a second autopsy, with a brain scan.”

“That’s not SOP.”

“I don’t really care. Until I hand it to Coop, it’s still my case.”

Lou grumbled, “I don’t want anyone to hang for this if it’s unwarranted. Just take care of yourself, Jamie. If you’re not comfortable staying at home, there’s a safe house—”

“I’m staying,” she said.

“I figured you’d say that.” Lou clicked off and Jamie put her phone down.

“It’s done. I’m off the investigation,” she said, and finally Chris turned from the window and faced her.

“Ah, Jamie, I wish you hadn’t done that—for your own sake.”

She stood, moved toward him. “I can’t lie about this anymore. You and I both know that, especially after what happened today at the meeting.”

“All you’re doing is looking for the truth about Josiah’s death—there’s no harm that can come out of that,” he said, and still, her hands fisted by her sides as if prepared for a battle. There was always a battle happening when she was with Chris—inside, her emotions fighting with logic, and she knew which one she wanted to win.

She nodded, because what else was there to say? They’d gone through the facts so many times, and she kept turning Chris’s story over and over in her head, mixing it with Cam’s version and trying to come up with something plausible. But even though she knew how memory grew hazy when life and death were involved, had told him as much last night when he’d held her, she knew there was something more bothering her about his case. “Josiah’s autopsy didn’t clear you. And I know you’re holding something back—I don’t know why, but you are. I won’t be the one who hurts you, Chris, any more than you’ve already been.”

He looked at her with an expression she didn’t recognize. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“We do. But—”

“Not now.” He was rubbing the fingers on his left hand together as he finished for her. “I won’t be the one who hurts you either, Jamie.”

Shake it off, Michaels
.

“Everything’s covered.” Chris popped his head into the kitchen. “Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?”

“Because I’m not five and I don’t need a nap,” she snapped.

He nodded and wisely backed away from the kitchen.

“Agent Michaels, Handler’s call to you looks to have come from a disposable cell phone,” Lyle called to her from the screened-in back porch. She’d figured as much.

She placed her gun on the kitchen counter and realized she needed to do something. Anything. And so she gathered bowls and flour and pre-heated the oven and began to prepare things for baking. Bread was good; bread required lots of kneading to take up the nervous energy in her hands.

She hadn’t done this in a while, not since Mike’s death. At first, she felt awkward, like she didn’t remember how to do it, thought about looking up the recipe to make sure she had it right. And then she realized that
right
was a relative term and it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Hands in the dough, she was immediately transported to childhood, for better or worse. She remembered her mom baking, remembered lazy days spent helping her in the kitchen.

She couldn’t practice law, and resented having to take a lower-level position in another field to stay under the radar. So in a few months her mom had quit her job at the post office. After that, she’d devoted her time to keeping house and raising the girls, did it with the same vim and vigor she’d given in the courtroom.

Even now, as Jamie stuck her hands in the dough to fold in the last of the flour, she flashed back easily to that kitchen, small but well kept, with bright yellow Formica counters and maple cabinets.

No one can get to you during a Minnesota winter
. And that was true—no one had. No, Alek had waited for a hot summer night, when the windows were shut, the A/C blaring noisily. No one had heard the intruder.

A crack of thunder that sounded too close brought her back to her own kitchen. She’d nearly overworked the dough because she’d gotten lost in thought.

Maybe she’d make dinner for the agents. And for Chris too. She was rusty, but anything was better than takeout again.

After Mike’s death, she’d found herself surrounded by food she’d made, more than she could possibly eat. But even when he was alive, it had been too much—she’d been cooking for a table-f of people, just the way Mom had always cooked too much for two adults and two small girls.

So much waste
, her father used to say. Mom would get upset and dinner ended up with PJ eating calmly, Jamie with a stomachache, as her parents shouted at each other in another room.

Just like Mom, trying to prove I’m good enough—trying to prove I can do it all
.

She tried to resist the strong urge to throw the bowl across the room. Her hands tightened into aching fists—she wasn’t sure how long she held that posture, but it was long enough to make every muscle in her upper body clench.

Before she could stop herself, she’d swept the bowl off the counter, knocking it to the ground, and enjoyed the satisfying crash it made. Then she was looking for other things to break, the way she felt broken inside, but Chris’s arms went around her, stopping her.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I fucking do. Do you understand? I care.”

Still, she struggled against his grip, tried to pry his arms off her—but his chest was like iron against her back and there was no way she was getting away from him. “I don’t want you to. You shouldn’t.”

“Tough shit,” he growled, and then his voice softened. “Tell me what’s really going on with you. Please, Jamie.”

This time, she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m repeating what my mother did—putting this baby in danger.” She tried to keep the anger out of her tone, but she tasted the residue of the bitterness anyway. “I didn’t know until this morning when Kevin told me … she called her best friend. She’d been doing it once a week and no one knew. Again, her choice. Her selfish, goddamned choice. She was supposed to protect us. It was her fault we were in witness protection to begin with and then she was the one who screwed it all up. A mother’s not supposed to do that to her kids.”

Her voice shook as she continued. “She was going to leave us, was planning to run away somewhere with her friend and just leave me and PJ and our dad behind. She said she felt trapped. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

“How
do
you feel?”

“Angry. So goddamned angry, I could scream. How could she do that to us?”

Chris didn’t answer.

“God, I’ve hated her and loved her for so long, and now … now I just hate her for what she did.” She heard someone crying and realized that someone was her. Finally, Chris’s grip loosened, enough for her to turn in to him, bury her face in his chest and bawl her brains out. Crying until she couldn’t breathe, until she was sobbing with no tears. Until she was raw and exposed and exhausted.

“Damned hormones,” she muttered roughly, pushing away from him and wiping her cheeks with her palms.

“Yeah.” His hand went around her waist and then moved over her belly. “They look good on you, though.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little at his words. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“You didn’t tell me anything that could compromise your life, Jamie.”

“Before Alek came and killed my parents, he went and killed my mother’s friend first,” she told him. “I’m not worried about just me anymore. I don’t want anything to happen to you because you’re with me. I couldn’t live with that.”

“You didn’t force me on the plane to the DRC. I went willingly because I was worried about my brother. I got involved. I made my choice.” He released his grip on her. “Do you get that? I made my choice.”

“I get that.”

She realized now that Chris had put music on—it wasn’t loud, just loud enough so she could hear the back-notes, the rhythm. She turned to the sink and ran the water so she could rid her hands of the dough and flour still stuck to them. He remained behind her, his face dropping to her neck.

“I know how capable you are. I do get it, Jamie. Always have when it comes to you.” His breath was warm on her ear, his hands caressed her hips and then began to travel upward, over her shirt but still headed in a very distinct direction.

“Chris, now’s not the time.”

But he wasn’t listening at all as his hands moved along her breasts—she shut the water off, her hands still wet. And she wanted, oh, how she’d
been
wanting, unable to shake the way her orgasm at his hands the night before had made her feel. She’d tried to re-create it herself, but it wasn’t the same.

His hands … hands that held a sniper rifle steady, and delivered babies, hands that could make a woman lose all semblance of control.

Maybe she’d been wrong all along, maybe it was the best time for this. For Chris. She’d been attempting to push him away since they’d first met and he’d been pulling her to him just as hard. Even when he’d walked away from her, he’d still left the line extended for her to follow. “I never expected you,” she whispered.

“I never expected you either, Jamie. Never expected any of this. I wasn’t looking—and maybe the not expecting is what’s made it so damned good.” He deftly undid the buttons on her shirt, exposing her bra. The shades were long pulled down, the agent on the back screened-in porch hidden from view.

His hands wandered over her breasts, still covered by the simple, sensible white bra—she felt anything but sensible as his thumbs brushed the taut peaks through the fabric, before sliding inside. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and she groaned and turned to him.

He lifted her gently onto the counter so they were nearly face-to-face. He was still taller, his fingers working her nipples until they were swollen and sensitive, and God, she wanted his warm, wet mouth on them.

“I want to make you forget, Jamie,” he murmured. “When I’m with you like this, I want to make you forget anything but me.”

His mouth covered hers first, a long, hot kiss that left her trembling with need, and then he dragged his kisses along her neck and down the front of her opened shirt until he caught a nipple in his mouth. She sucked in a breath and wound her hands in his hair, half holding him there, and wished they were alone, really alone, so she could let go, call out his name.

She settled for silent pleasure, especially when his hand moved between her legs.

“I bet I could make you come like this,” he told her, pressed his hand against the fabric of her pants. “Fully clothed and not able to stop yourself.”

She didn’t argue, not when his mouth sought her other nipple and tongued it before sucking it between his teeth. Now her hands gripped his shoulders as she felt herself moving against the pressure of his hand, seeking the relief he offered. She bent her head, buried her face in his hair and let out a soft moan as she realized how close she was—and then she stopped trying to hold back and came, hard, clutching at him and whimpering softly.

He held her, stroked her back, murmured, “This is nice. It’s always so hot and fast. I like taking my time … like watching you break apart, little by little.”

“I want more.”

He pulled back to look at her. In case he didn’t get the message, she let her hand wander between his legs. He was rock hard and she wanted him naked and in her bed. “I want to send the agents away. Or have you take me away.”

“Yeah, you have no idea how badly I want that. But it’s not going to happen right now.”

“Why’s that?”

He moved gently out of her grasp, straightening his pants. “Kevin just drove up.”

Shit. “Shit.” She buttoned her shirt in seconds flat and turned away from Chris to collect herself.

Palms flat on the counter, she got her breathing under control. There was nothing she could do about the flush she was sure had spread across her face.

Chris was good at making her forget her troubles, her mind … everything.

“I’ll go out and meet him,” he was saying.

“Chris, no—that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Kevin is … he’s tough. Overprotective.”

“You mean he’ll have no problem threatening to cut my balls off, right?”

“Pretty much.” She paused. “He knows about the baby. And you.”

Chris nodded slowly. “All the more reason for me to go introduce myself.”

He was gone from the kitchen before she could stop him.