behind me.”
She did. Unfortunately she was so close behind that she collided with his back when he halted.
He said nothing, just passed her a penlight from his pocket and pressed a hand to her stomach to keep her in place. He had his gun out, but as it was aimed at the ground, she understood even before she angled the light at the car.
The man inside had vanished.
* * *
“ I AM SO done with this night,” Amara declared.
McVey followed her around the fallen tree and across the yard to the porch. Thankfully, the generator had kicked in.
“I want to believe the guy I saw was your resident nutball taking refuge from the falling sky, but the Crocodile Dundee knife suggests...well...not.” He saw her shoulders hunch. “Do you have any theories?”
“None worth mentioning.”
“Figures.” When she turned for a last look behind them, he felt her eyes on his cheek. “And then there’s this.” A sigh escaped. “They’re not deep scratches, but I bet they sting.” Lifting a hand, she used her index finger to draw a circle. “They should heal fast enough.”
“They always do.”
Smiling a little, she drew another circle. “Meaning you’ve been scratched before?”
“I worked in vice in Chicago. Cops get scratched, punched, kicked and shot at on a regular basis.”
“I guess the Hollow’s a cakewalk by comparison.”
“Depends on your definition of the term. I’ve been scratched, kicked and shot at within the space of five hours tonight.”
“Pretty sure Samson was thinking about punching you at the Red Eye.” Her eyes danced. “You’re four for four, Chief, and the Night of the Raven hasn’t even begun.”
“Maybe I should have gone to Florida with Tyler and Molly.”
“You still can.”
He dropped his gaze briefly to her mouth. “No, I really can’t.” Wouldn’t if he could. And, God help him, he had no desire to explore that scary-as-hell thought.
She circled the scratches a third time and then let her hand fall away.
Was it crazy that, for a single blind moment, he wanted to abandon all logic and have wild sex with her on the kitchen floor? His hormones said no. Fortunately for both of them, his brain retained control.
“You should go upstairs,” he said before the badly frayed threads of his restraint snapped and he turned into the big bad wolf they’d been playing with all night.
He started to step back. Then blew his good intentions to hell and covered her mouth with his.
For the first time in memory the world around him dissolved, leaving him with nothing except the full-bodied taste of woman and the mildly unnerving sensation that some small part of her was seeping into his bloodstream like a drug. Whether good or bad, he couldn’t say. He only knew his control currently teetered on a very ragged edge. Drawing on the dregs of it, he gripped her arms and set her away from him.
“Well, wow.” Amara fingered her lips. Her eyes had gone a fascinating shade of silver. “That was...amazing. I don’t normally kiss men I’ve just met like that. Not altogether sure I’ve kissed any man like that.” She bit lightly on her lower lip. “You?”
“I try not to kiss men at all if I can avoid it.”
She laughed, and that didn’t help a damn thing. “No Irish or Italian in your background, hmm?”
He fixed his gaze on hers. “You want to go upstairs, Amara, now, before it occurs to me that self-restraint’s never been my best quality.”
A sparkle lit her eyes. Tugging him forward by his shirt, she whispered a teasing “Mine, either.”
He let her stroll away. This might be Grandma’s house, but he hadn’t regressed to a wild-animal state quite yet.
Rifle shots, he reminded himself. Supersize knife. Twisted leer. Oh, yeah, that worked. Anticipation rose. Adrenaline ramped it up.
He gave Amara sixty minutes to settle in—and his libido the same amount of time to settle down. Then he checked his guns, pulled on a dark jacket and made himself part of the
She did. Unfortunately she was so close behind that she collided with his back when he halted.
He said nothing, just passed her a penlight from his pocket and pressed a hand to her stomach to keep her in place. He had his gun out, but as it was aimed at the ground, she understood even before she angled the light at the car.
The man inside had vanished.
* * *
“ I AM SO done with this night,” Amara declared.
McVey followed her around the fallen tree and across the yard to the porch. Thankfully, the generator had kicked in.
“I want to believe the guy I saw was your resident nutball taking refuge from the falling sky, but the Crocodile Dundee knife suggests...well...not.” He saw her shoulders hunch. “Do you have any theories?”
“None worth mentioning.”
“Figures.” When she turned for a last look behind them, he felt her eyes on his cheek. “And then there’s this.” A sigh escaped. “They’re not deep scratches, but I bet they sting.” Lifting a hand, she used her index finger to draw a circle. “They should heal fast enough.”
“They always do.”
Smiling a little, she drew another circle. “Meaning you’ve been scratched before?”
“I worked in vice in Chicago. Cops get scratched, punched, kicked and shot at on a regular basis.”
“I guess the Hollow’s a cakewalk by comparison.”
“Depends on your definition of the term. I’ve been scratched, kicked and shot at within the space of five hours tonight.”
“Pretty sure Samson was thinking about punching you at the Red Eye.” Her eyes danced. “You’re four for four, Chief, and the Night of the Raven hasn’t even begun.”
“Maybe I should have gone to Florida with Tyler and Molly.”
“You still can.”
He dropped his gaze briefly to her mouth. “No, I really can’t.” Wouldn’t if he could. And, God help him, he had no desire to explore that scary-as-hell thought.
She circled the scratches a third time and then let her hand fall away.
Was it crazy that, for a single blind moment, he wanted to abandon all logic and have wild sex with her on the kitchen floor? His hormones said no. Fortunately for both of them, his brain retained control.
“You should go upstairs,” he said before the badly frayed threads of his restraint snapped and he turned into the big bad wolf they’d been playing with all night.
He started to step back. Then blew his good intentions to hell and covered her mouth with his.
For the first time in memory the world around him dissolved, leaving him with nothing except the full-bodied taste of woman and the mildly unnerving sensation that some small part of her was seeping into his bloodstream like a drug. Whether good or bad, he couldn’t say. He only knew his control currently teetered on a very ragged edge. Drawing on the dregs of it, he gripped her arms and set her away from him.
“Well, wow.” Amara fingered her lips. Her eyes had gone a fascinating shade of silver. “That was...amazing. I don’t normally kiss men I’ve just met like that. Not altogether sure I’ve kissed any man like that.” She bit lightly on her lower lip. “You?”
“I try not to kiss men at all if I can avoid it.”
She laughed, and that didn’t help a damn thing. “No Irish or Italian in your background, hmm?”
He fixed his gaze on hers. “You want to go upstairs, Amara, now, before it occurs to me that self-restraint’s never been my best quality.”
A sparkle lit her eyes. Tugging him forward by his shirt, she whispered a teasing “Mine, either.”
He let her stroll away. This might be Grandma’s house, but he hadn’t regressed to a wild-animal state quite yet.
Rifle shots, he reminded himself. Supersize knife. Twisted leer. Oh, yeah, that worked. Anticipation rose. Adrenaline ramped it up.
He gave Amara sixty minutes to settle in—and his libido the same amount of time to settle down. Then he checked his guns, pulled on a dark jacket and made himself part of the
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