 
TRACE

Bad Boys of River City Book One

By

Elle Wylder

Website | Facebook| Newsletter

# Author's Note

Welcome to River City, where organized crime has a Southern drawl. TRACE is the first book in the Bad Boys of River City series. If you enjoy this story please join my mailing list or visit my Facebook group for information on new releases.

# Blurb

He'll get his revenge, one way or the other...

The one righteous act of Trace Graham's life cost him ten years in prison, and now that he's out he's looking for a little payback. His fury has one focus, the woman whose life he'd defended that long ago night, Serenity Lynn Jameson.

She's spent a decade atoning for her father's sins...

Police detective Lynn Jameson has her hands busy with a missing person and drug smuggling case. The last thing she needs is Trace bulldozing his back into her life. She knows better than to get involved with a recently released convict, even if his touch is something she's dreamed of for years.

Opposites attract...or do they collide?

As things heat up between them, Lynn's investigation paints a target on her back and Trace has to decide how far he's willing to go for revenge and love.

# Contents

Author's Note 2

Blurb 4

Chapter One 6

Chapter Two 20

Chapter Three 30

Chapter Four 39

Chapter Five 47

Chapter Six 50

Chapter Seven 60

Chapter Eight 74

Chapter Nine 77

Chapter Ten 88

Epilogue 103

MORE FROM ELLE WYLDER 105

 Walker: Bad Boys of River City 2 (Excerpt) 107

COPYRIGHT 112

#  Chapter One

Trace

Holman Correctional Facility, Atmore, Alabama

About ten minutes after noon, I step out of the gate of the prison that has been my personal hell for ten years. I'm a free man. Excitement surges through me. It's something I haven't felt for years. I spread my arms wide and lift my face to grin at the weak December sun.

Freedom.

Lowering my hands to my hips, I take a good look around the outside of the place that swallowed up years of my life. The prison is an hour north of the Gulf of Mexico, but there is no sign of the sea here. The place is surrounded on all sides by tall pines, and the rotten-egg smell of a paper plant drifts faintly on the wind. I can't wait to get home and away from this stink. Paper mill or guards, I'm not sure where it's coming from.

A car turns down the row in front of me and screeches to a stop, the driver throwing it into park and jumping out. Walker, my younger brother jumps out and catches me up in a bear hug. I pound his back and laugh. The sound is rusty from disuse. I haven't had reason to laugh in years.

We step back and size each other up. Walker is one of the few people in the world who gives a rat's ass about me. He's not the scrawny kid he was when I got sent away. I knew that but it seems different without that sheet of Plexiglas between us. His chest and back are broad, his biceps bulge and are covered in tattoos. He looks as tough as me. I have to remind myself that he's proved himself while I was stuck behind bars. Somehow he's managed to stay out of jail over the years, but he's had a string of close calls. I don't ask about that. It'll be time to talk business soon enough and bringing it up here feels like bad luck. I decide to wait until we're on the road.

Instead, I grin and harass him. "Been hittin' the iron, kid?"

Walker snorts. "Get in the damned car. I haven't been a kid since I was ten."

I stop and take my first good look at the vehicle. My car. The wreck I'd in won in a poker game twelve years ago has been completely restored.

"Looks good, doesn't she?" Walker asks with pride and I admit he's earned it.

Afraid it might be a mirage and disappear on contact, I reach out cautiously and skim my hand over the surface of the roof. My fingertips meet midnight black metal and I swallow the lump in my throat. It's just a fucking car. Well, as much as a 1968 Camaro could be just a car.

I lift the gleaming door handle to swing the heavy door open. Removing the pack from my back, I toss it over the seat and slide in, pulling the door closed behind me. The reupholstered leather seats are soft and plush, and as we exit the parking lot I start to relax for the first time in ten long years.

It's a three hour drive home to Madison. The small town on the Chattahoochee River in Alabama is only a stone's throw from both Georgia and Florida, just on the outskirts of River City. It'd never seemed much like home until I couldn't go to it. We pull out of the prison and turn east. It really starts to sink in. I'm free.

I study my little brother. He's confident. Assured. I know few details of the last few years. It's not like we can speak freely when he visits. He owns the only garage in Madison. I don't know where he got the cash to buy it but I'm guessing it was fights. Walker is a talented mechanic, always has been, so the move makes sense. Makes him look legit. And the place will give me gainful employment, too. Of course, there's also the gym. Our friend Hunter Wallace inherited the building our last year of high school. The rest of us--me and Walker, Ryder Malone, and Lake Palmer-- went in with him on equipment. We were just starting to make a profit when I got sentenced. I'll have enough income to eat while I get my bearings. A man will do desperate things if he's hungry and I have no plans on going back to prison.

Since I've served every minute of my ten year sentence, I'm a totally free man, not encumbered by any asinine rules of parole. I try not to think too much about that. I should have been out of prison years ago, finishing my sentence on parole. Unfortunately, the warden is an old school buddy of Judge Jameson's, the man who'd presided over my trial and sentenced me to ten years. Even after the man's death, the warden made sure I stayed in prison. Every time I came up for a parole board review some minor infraction against me was manufactured and presented. Every time I was turned down. Taking a deep breath, I suppress my rising anger and concentrate on life as a free man.

I hadn't been in an all-fired rush to return to Madison until I heard she was back. Closing my eyes, I call up her memory. Serenity Lynn Jameson. The woman responsible for my ten years of hell. The last time I saw her in the flesh she was sitting across a small table from me in the county jail's visitation room, close to tears and wringing her hands. If not for the guards, I might have reached to comfort her, and that had fucking pissed me off. It still does.

Serenity was innocent and demure. I'd watched her grow from a skinny gangly kid to a knockout eighteen year-old. I knew better, but she was a woman I just had to sample. And sample I had. Once. Only, once wasn't nearly enough. She'd been meeting me for the second go when the trouble started. Billy Thompson started hitting on her the minute she walked in the door. When she shrugged him off, the man turned dangerous, aggressive. I defended her, why, I can't fathom, and Billy was killed, the simple bar fight ended by Billy's knife in my hand. The one righteous thing I have ever done landed me in prison.

The last time I saw Serenity she asked me to forgive her and promised I'd be out soon. After all, her daddy was the judge. Why would he send away a man for defending his daughter's virtue? I snort. Yeah, right. I'd seen the writing on the wall. I'd screwed Judge Jameson's daughter. One man was dead, and the other from the wrong side of the tracks was in handcuffs. I didn't have a chance in hell.

Serenity went north to college before the trial started. For some reason I'd expected to see her there anyway. Her not showing up for it felt like rejection, something I wasn't accustomed to, a chink in my armor. I beat the emotion down, but not before vowing to make her pay. When I'd heard my sentence, ten years, in my mind I'd doubled her sentence, too. She's spent the first ten years in her own kind of exile, on the other side of the state.

And now she is back in Madison as a police detective.

"You're quiet," Walker cut into my thoughts.

I smile, the movement tightening muscles long unused to such action.

"Just contemplating revenge, brother."

Walker arches an eyebrow. "Lynn Jameson?"

"I call her Serenity." I breath her name.

Since her father, the judge, died just weeks after sending me to prison, Serenity is the only one left to receive my wrath. The only one left to seek vengeance from. Walker shakes his head.

"Don't go there, Trace. She's a cop now, and she's dating Tim Monroe."

Rage roils through me. That is my pussy and I'm not done with it yet. I've spent years dreaming of my one taste of her and the things I'd do to her when I was free. Most of them are illegal in Alabama. I don't care, and neither will she. I'll make her beg. It is a vision that has carried me through the years. The perfect Serenity Jameson, on her knees before me.

"Monroe can't have her," I bite out through clenched teeth. "Not until I'm done with her."

"Fuck," Walker mutters.

This time my smile is for real. "I intend to."

"No, man," Walker looks over at me after he steers the car onto the highway heading home. "She's not the girl you remember."

Of course she isn't. The woman I remember was sweet and innocent, and I'd been unable to resist her. I'd held back, afraid I might hurt her, and I hope life has hardened her as much as it has me. When I start fucking her this time, I won't stop. She better be able to take it.

"She's a real ball-breaker now," Walker adds.

I smile. Good. I'll break her of that. Will revel in doing so, actually. I'm going to make her need me, crave me, the way I do her. And when I've satisfied my longing for her, I'll move on. Then Monroe can have her.

Lost in my plans, the hours fly by and I'm surprised when we pull off the road into the gym's parking lot. I should have known Walker would bring me here first. I get out of the car but I don't go anywhere for a minute. I stare at the building. It's been so long and it doesn't look any different. It's like not one year has passed. Except the cars parked out front. A lot of new models I've never seen, lots of trucks, some bikes. I'm surprised at how full the lot is actually. Business must be booming.

I move forward and Walker falls into step beside me. Inside, the place is totally different. It's still a huge open space with several rings on one side, but now there are weight stations and treadmills for crissakes. What the fuck? Walker takes the lead to the back of the building, where I assume the office still is. As we walk through the gym I swear I see a couple cops from the old days sparring in a ring. No fucking way. I know Hunter is running a legit business here but there's no way he's gone straight enough that cops feel comfortable working out here.

We reach the office and for a moment that leaves my mind. I'm engulfed when we enter. Surrounded by Hunter, Ryder, and Lake. After the back thumping is done, Hunter hands me a beer.

"Welcome home, brother," he says.

I'd be lying if I say I don't have a lump in my throat, but I hide the emotion. They know anyway. They've visited over the years. I know a little about their day to day lives. Hell, Ryder and Lake have even done some time with me. But to be with them all again, it's so different. It's better than I imagined.

"It's good to be home," I say.

I look through the one way glass into the gym.

"Are there seriously cops in here?"

I have to ask. Exactly how much has changed? Hunter laughs.

"Yeah. Don't worry about them. It's cool. We'll talk business in a couple days. Get your bearings, man. Get drunk. Get laid."

There are some snickers at that suggestion but the pointed looks aren't at me. They're at Hunter. He rolls his eyes.

"What?" I ask.

"Oh, just a sweet little thing that won't give him the time of day," Ryder drawls. "And get this, her name is Honor. Apparently she actually has some."

She doesn't sound like the kind of woman who'd get involved with men like us but who am I to cast stones? I have every intention of having a police detective under me in the next twenty four hours. I give myself away somehow, or maybe Hunter just wants to direct attention away from himself. He gives me a harsh, cold look. The boss's look. In anything else, I'd follow his lead.

"Some women are more trouble than they're worth. I'm sure I don't have to remind you of that," Hunter says.

I nod because he's right, but it's not going to stop me and he knows it. He sighs. "Haven't you lost enough because of her?"

"Too much," I agree. And I intend to get some back.

I drink my beer and listen to them talk about the legit businesses. The gym which we all have a stake in. Walker's garage, which it turns out I'm half owner of. Ryder and Lake actually own a bail bondman's company which blows my mind. Hunter apparently has his fingers in quite a bit of local real estate and construction. I know there's other stuff, but I'm not sure why they're keeping me in the dark. Maybe the gym isn't safe to talk. Maybe they don't trust me anymore. One more thing Serenity took from me. It isn't long before the group splits up. Hunter walks out with us, stops me at the car.

"Trace."

"Yeah?" I ask.

He nods and cracks a smile. "It's damn good to have you home, brother. Walker will fill you in. We'll talk soon."

I nod, still not quite sure how to read the situation but willing to wait until I can get my brother alone to chat. I climb in the car and we're on our way. It's only a few miles until Walker pulls off the road into the garage's parking lot. We drive around back and I spot the small white house, which looks exactly like the pictures Walker sent me. It appears to be well cared for, with a narrow porch stretching across the front. I'd expected to see it, to live in it, although I'm not sure if I'll ever consider it home.

To my surprise, a woman lounges on the porch waiting for us. Her booted feet are propped on the rail as she gently rocks in one of three rocking chairs near the door. Her long legs are encased in jeans, and she wears a tight T-shirt with a light jacket thrown over it. Her long brown hair is caught up in a ponytail at the back of her head. My heart races when I realize who she is.

I get out of the car and take my time approaching her, halting when I reach the bottom step. Her feet thud to the floor as she stands up and looks me over from top to bottom, and then up again. She's thinner than I remember, but nothing else about her is different. Her eyes are still icy blue, her skin still smooth and lightly tanned, freckles dust her nose. Tempting red lips curl up in a slight social smile.

"You look good, Trace," she says, in the husky voice that haunts my dreams. My cock hardens in a half second flat.

"Serenity." My voice is hard. Edgy. I can't keep the anger from it and don't really try. "I didn't expect you to be part of my welcome home committee."

"I'm not."

There is no change of expression on her face. No sign she thinks of the past at all. Feels any remorse or guilt for her part in my incarceration. It fuels my anger. I want to shake her up, want to crack that serene composure to expose the passionate woman underneath. I walk up the few steps, don't stop moving until I'm close enough that she is forced to tilt her head back to look at me. Her eyes flash, but she doesn't back away. She thinks she can handle me. I see it on her face and almost smile. She has no idea what I've become, but she will.

"Why not?"

She frowns. "Why would I be?"

"You're the reason I was there in the first place." I let some of the rage I work so hard to control--at my imprisonment, at her abandonment--color my voice. And wrapped up in that rage is always, always, the lust. The craving for a girl, a body, I've only had once. Her calm mask slips. So many emotions cross her face, but the only two I care about are the guilt and the desire. She gets control of herself quickly, hides herself back behind that infuriating calm mask, but this time it's okay. I know what she hides, know I can reach it. She steps back, as if she finally realizes what kind of danger she's in, and looks around me to Walker.

"Can we go inside a minute?"

"Sure." He steps to the door with a key. Serenity shakes her head and arches an eyebrow, no doubt wondering why someone would need to lock their door in tiny Madison. Well, let her wonder. Walker extends his arm, like he's a fucking gentleman or something. I snort.

"After you."

Serenity steps through the door and leads the way down the hall to a small kitchen. I hate the suspicion that snakes through me. How does she know my brother's house so well? My curiosity must show on my face, because Walker laughs.

"It's not what you're thinking, brother."

Walker reaches into the refrigerator, pulls out three beers and passes them around. Serenity twists off her cap and takes a long swallow. I stare at the movement of her mouth as she gulps down the cold brew, wondering what it will look like full of my cock. Tonight, I promise myself. I'll have her tonight.

Serenity

I feel Trace's gaze on me, and remember with a start what drew me to him all those years ago. He has a way of making a woman his complete focus, and the naïve girl I was hadn't stood a chance in hell against him. Good thing I'm all grown up now.

But I'm dismayed to learn I'm not immune to his intense masculinity. It takes all I have not to cross my legs against the heat pooling in my pussy as his cool dark eyes spear me with a mixture of lust, anger, and hate. I feel it like a blow to my stomach. I didn't know he hates me. And he wants me to know it. Almost as much as he wants me to know he plans to fuck me again. I can see it all on his face. In his eyes. This is a major problem. I'm not sure if I can resist him if he touches me. I'm pretty sure I don't want to. I'll probably melt at the first stroke.

Walker clears his throat and I wrench my gaze from Trace to see him leaning tense and coiled against the counter. I almost laugh. Who does he expect trouble from? Anxiety stiffens my muscles. Maybe from where he stands, it's a toss up.

"I found your thief," I say in the hushed room. Then I take another draw of beer. It's not my preferred drink, but the situation and my nerves seem to call for it. I can feel Trace's focused gaze, can feel his intent, and struggle not to respond to it. It's a losing battle. I need to fill Walker in and get the hell out while I still can. "You were right. Jimmy Richards."

"I thought so."

I roll my eyes.

"You need to press charges, Walker." I hold my hand up when he starts to interrupt. "Not pressing charges is just going to lead to more trouble for this kid."

I know I'm wasting my breath. Walker ain't exactly clean. I know he strips cars. I know he's involved with underground fighting. And I'm pretty sure he's got a nice sideline in illegal loans. I can't prove any of that and I've never tried. Odd as it sounds, he's my friend. As long as he's staying away from drugs or murder (though I wouldn't put that past him either) I won't actively try to bust him. And he and his buddies are very careful. They aren't flashy. They don't flaunt their money or power. But I've seen Hunter Wallace in River City, the city just a few miles from us, and in Montgomery and Panama City. He commands respect without even trying and that says a lot. I know it's time I get out of this business. I don't see in black and white anymore, and it doesn't feel right to keep doing police work. I've been on the verge of making this decision for weeks now. But what else can I do? I'm sure as hell not going dark side.

Walker shakes his head. "Trust me on this, Lynn. He's not a bad kid. He just needs a firm hand. A little guidance."

Fuck. Walker is smoking crack if he believes that. From the corner of my eye I catch Trace's incredulous look and snicker. I don't know what his objection is, but mine is easy enough to voice. Jimmy Richards is a juvenile delinquent who is fast on his way to becoming an adult delinquent. He doesn't need a firm hand--he needs to spend a night in my jail. I've told Walker as much, but our conversation was frustrating and got me nowhere. Just like now. Finishing the beer, I put it down and walk to the kitchen door.

"Fine," I say, hand on the doorknob. "Do it your way. But the next person will press charges, Walker."

"There won't be a next time," he responds calmly. "I'll track Jimmy down tomorrow and put him to work. He can pay off what he took that way."

I roll my eyes. I'll be amazed if that straightens the kid up. Of all the hard cases I've known over the years, Jimmy is at the bottom of my list of likely reformers. I have to concede that maybe reformation isn't what Walker wants. He might want someone he can control. Who will work for him.

"You're dreaming, Walker. Let me know if you need me," I add as I open the door, careful not to look at Trace. If I do I know he will see I want him so bad I'm quivering inside. If I see that craving reciprocated, I might throw caution to wind and beg him to come over later. I've spent ten years building my defenses and one touch will shatter them. I refuse to contemplate what a rejection will do to me. "See y'all later."

When I pull the door shut behind me, I release a pent up sigh of...what? Angst? Lust? I don't stop to examine it too closely. Can't. Whatever I feel for Trace, whatever his hold over me is, any real chance at exploring it ended years ago. I have to focus on the life I have now and quit yearning for something that never really was. And this fucking sucks because it's so clear to me now. Seeing him. I've led the wrong life. If he hadn't gone to prison, we'd probably be together. I wouldn't be a cop. He wouldn't hate me. I want to sob but I know it's my own damned fault. I gave up and he knows it. There's no way to go back now. I just need to get someplace safe so I can have the mini breakdown I know is coming. I can't change the past. I can only deal with the present. But it hurts and I need to deal with that. Accept it. I need to get home.

Our little cove off the river is visible down the slope of the backyard. Lit by the glow from the back porch and the dock Christmas lights, I stroll that way, meeting the parallel path and turning toward my house. Forcing my mind away from Trace, I spend the five minute walk concentrating on work.

Something is very wrong in Madison, but I don't know what. Not yet, anyway. In the normal course of events there isn't much activity in our little town off the main flow of the Chattahoochee. But a few days ago, someone turned in ten thousand dollars found on the riverbank, and I have reports coming in all the time of strange activity on the river. Boats running without lights, and lights where there shouldn't be any. Of course, by the time I arrive on the scene each time, there are no sign of anything. I regret I haven't taken the incidents more seriously—didn't until the money showed up at least. Very stupid of me. We don't have much in way of crime in my town. The major stuff takes place over in River City or down in Panama City.

My back porch comes into view and I quicken my pace. The house is a replica of Walker's, down to the peeling paint. I'd caught the look on Trace's face when I'd entered the house and was familiar with the layout. For a minute, he had actually wondered if I have something going on with his brother.

I imagine my smile is bitter. No way. I've learned my lesson about screwing the town bad boy. Then there's the small matter of conflict of interest. Hello? Cop and criminal? Very bad combo. Walker seems to have it in his head I'm off limits, anyway. We make for an odd friendship, but it's real. Trace doesn't have a friendly bone in his body. Not that I blame him.

So why does his presence turn me on so much? Even now my pussy is wet and throbbing. It's a sensation I'm not used to. The few men I've spent time with over the years never turned me on the way Trace did when I was eighteen. I've started to think that maybe I just have a very slow fuse. I groan. Apparently not. I obviously have a thing for men who redefine the term bad boy.

I pause at the bottom step and look up at the stars. Why did he come back? He is such a threat to my self control. I've spent ten years paying penance for what happened between us. Ten years dating the right kind of men. Okay, maybe they were a little boring, but I'm a cop and they weren't criminals. A definite plus. Shaking off the funk, I jog up the steps and open my back door.

I don't bother with a light and stalk straight through the kitchen to my bedroom, tugging my shirt off over my head as I go. A bath is just the thing to ease the tension strumming through me, and maybe I'll use my new waterproof vibrator for good measure. I peel off my jeans, step into the small bathroom, and flip on the light. Doing a quick mental inventory of what I need--a towel, a glass of wine, a book and the vibrator--I hurry back into the bedroom and come to a complete standstill. Trace lays stretched out on my bed.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Enjoying the view."

He leers at me and I resist the urge to try and cover myself. Instead, I give him my coldest look.

"Leave," I bite out between clenched teeth. "Before I arrest you for breaking and entering."

He jumps up from the bed and looms in front of me. I hate that I back up, and what is worse, his display of aggression turns me on. Oh God, please don't let him touch me. There is no way I'll be able to resist him if he closes the inches separating us. His head dips down and my breathing hitches. This is it. I'm a goner. He will either kill me or fuck me and I don't really care which. I'm an idiot.

"Waited ten years for this," he murmurs before catching my lips with his.

His tongue is slow and gentle as it slides over my lower lip and pushes inside my mouth. Gliding over my teeth, thrusting in and out, it is a tease of a kiss. Frustrated with its taunting nature, I groan and lean into him, pressing my breasts against his chest hoping to spur him on. He withdraws, breathing hard from his effort to stay in control.

With one arm around my waist, he holds me still as his other hand wiggles inside my panties and finds my clit. Arching my back, I press my mound against his fingers. I'm so close to coming. A little harder, a little faster. I'm not sure if I pant the words out or he has an instinctive knowledge of my body. I'm right on the edge, with little tremors beginning in my legs, when he stops.

I almost howl with disappointment. My eyes snap open and I meet his gaze, recoiling at the fury I see there. If he's that angry with me, why is he here? His hand still cups my pussy and his finger flicks over my clit. I can't repress the shudder of response or the groan that escapes my lips.

"Have you let Tim Monroe touch you here?" he rasps, one long finger pushing into my sex.

I gasp, riding the sensation, ignoring the question. A second finger joins the first and they slide leisurely in and out of me. After a moment he stops, walking me backwards until I'm against the wall, and he bites my neck.

"Ow," I yelp, although I feel more liquid pool against his fingers at the singular assault.

He chuckles. "You liked that. I can feel it here." He wiggles his fingers deep inside me.

"I asked you a question, Serenity," he says, and though his tone is soft, I hear an underlying edge of menace.

"What was the question?"

"Tim Monroe," he reminds me.

"I don't see that it's any of your business," I respond, knowing my answer is ridiculous under the circumstances. Trace is not a man to trifle with. He's capable of anything. I've seen him kill a man.

His eyes narrow on my face and I feel a spurt of fear. He lowers his head until we are nose to nose and the hand that only moments ago had cupped my waist now rests on my collarbone...and twitches. Sliding it up, he lightly strokes the sides of my neck. The movement is tender and threatening at the same time. I gulp.

"No," I whisper. "He hasn't touched me."

"Good," he says in a hard tone. "This is mine."

Removing his fingers from my pussy he pinches my clit hard enough to send sparks through me. I ride a wave of pleasure/pain and when he releases his hold on my clitoris to rub against it, the orgasm breaks over me. I cry out and tremble in his arms.

Trace

When Serenity's shudders slow, I pick her up and carry her to the bed. Dropping her in the center, I stand back and rip my shirt over my head before yanking off my jeans and shoes. I toss a handful of condoms to the bedside table--I'd raided Walker's supply--and come down on top of her, crushing her into the mattress. She tastes sweeter than I remember, and my control is paper thin. I have to get inside her now. Lifting enough to rip open the packet and roll on the condom, I look up to meet her gaze.

It is full of wary lust and although I'd wanted her afraid, had even been turned on by her fear, now her caution cuts me and spurs my anger. If she doesn't know me well enough to realize I'd never physically harm her, the hell with it. I don't have time to soothe her now, and I don't care what she thinks anyway. Do I? My fingers seek out her pussy and I guide my cock to it, thrusting deep. Her eyes widen and her body clenches around me. Oh, fuck. I care all right. I close my eyes and fight down whatever emotion is swelling my throat closed.

Seated deep inside her, not daring yet to move, I realize her hair is still up and I tug out the elastic holding it. I run my fingers through her long hair, brown with those tantalizing hints of gold, fanning it out across the pillow. I dream about that hair, about feeling it slide over my bare skin. A simple enough fantasy to fulfill.

I roll us over and bring her upright over me. And yes, the ends of her hair brush my chest, just like I'd imagined. I gather it in my hands and tug until she is forced to lean over. She doesn't exactly resist, but she hesitates enough to fire my temper again. I withdrew from her pussy and thrust back in, rocking her forward against my chest. She drops her hands on my shoulders to brace herself, and looks at me in question when I don't continue.

Now that I'm balls deep inside her, I have better control over the hunger eating at me. Enough to make her come again and again, desperate for me. I need her desperate for me. And I need the time to reacquaint myself with her body. It is going to be a long time before I'm done with her. Tonight, and down the road.

I reach for her breasts, palming them, the hard tips of her nipples spearing my hands. They're smaller than I remember, but she is thinner, sleeker with unfamiliar muscles. It's obvious she works her body hard. I smirk. I have every intention of putting her through her paces. My fingers close over the nubs and I squeeze them, wringing a gasp from her.

Sliding one arm around her back, I pull her closer and suck one nipple into my mouth. She groans and grinds against my hips. There is no way she is coming again so soon, but sweet Jesus, damned if she doesn't tighten around my cock and mewl like a kitten when I bite her nipple. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she rides me, with fine tremors shaking her rigid body. I'm not sure if I can take that again, the feeling of her clamping down on my dick without coming. I want to have my own fun, too.

Rolling her back over, I slide my arms under her knees and lift her legs over my shoulders. The position leaves her open and vulnerable, but the only thing I see in her eyes is desire. Good. I don't have time for fear. Not now.

I brace my arms next to her head, wrap my hands in her hair and grip her skull, kissing her hard, the way I wanted to earlier. With no restraint, no control, no holds barred. Just the way I'm going to fuck her. Withdrawing slowly inch by inch, until only the head of my cock remains inside her, I stop the kiss and meet her hot gaze.

"Ready?" I ask gruffly. "I'm gonna fuck you, Serenity. Hard."

Long seconds tick by as she looks into my eyes. What does she see there? Does she see how I've changed? Hardened? Does she see the fine rage that burns in me just under the surface, just out of reach? Whatever she sees, she must not object too much to it because finally she nods. I'm not sure why I wait, but once I have her approval I slam home. Her eyes widen in surprise and her hands fly up to grip my shoulders. Her grasp borders on pain, her nails digging into my flesh, and I catch her again in a bruising kiss as I pound into her.

Her soft gasps and groans wrap around me, driving me higher, and I regret I don't have it in me to reach between us and force another orgasm on her. I'm so close and it's been so long, there is no way in hell am I slowing down now. I'll take care of her later. When I have more control. Right. That's what I'll do.

I throw back my head and shout, feeling the tightly corded muscles from my neck to my thighs clench, as I come. The orgasm seems to go on forever, my body unwilling to give up the sanctuary of hers. When I'm finally released from its grip, I lower her legs and collapse on top of her temporarily replete.

My Serenity, I whisper to myself. And maybe she is the peace I've been searching for.

#  Chapter Two

Serenity

The brring brring of my cell phone interrupts a hot dream about Trace and anal sex. I have too damned many of those. I grope the floor next to the bed with half a mind of throwing it against the wall. I have to lean way out over the platform to reach it and as I stretch my leg out for balance, I bump against something. Hard. Hairy. Definitely a male leg. Holy crap. It wasn't all a dream. Sitting up, I grab the phone and slide the bar over to unlock it.

"Yeah," I answer softly, hoping I don't wake the enigmatic man in my bed. It can only be work calling at--I squint at the alarm clock--three in the morning. "Detective Jameson."

Rubbing the back of my neck, I listen to Mrs. Baker, my elderly neighbor a few doors down, report a ruckus down on her dock. I grin. I'd come home to take this job after being burnt out on the big city, but the misdeeds reported to me often make me laugh my ass off. Last time Mrs. Baker reported a late night dock intruder it turned out to have white rimmed eyes, very sharp claws, and weighed in at around twenty pounds. The local raccoon population seems intent on invading her property.

After agreeing to run over and check it out, I end the call and look around for my jeans. Spying them across the room, I hurry over, pull them on and grab my discarded sweater. Just in case, I remove my sidearm from the wall safe I'd had specially installed and pick up my boots. Heading for the bed to put them on, I try not to cringe at the memory of my lack of caution. Trace Graham. What was I thinking? Haven't I learned that lesson already? He doesn't want me and I've made a very different life for myself. It's probably not the right life and I know that but this is...wrong. This is just wrong.

The cause of my wince morphs from memory to reality when I look up and meet his laser-sharp gaze, eyes as black as midnight. Propped on one arm, the quilt pools around his waist and he takes my breath away. He is masculine perfection. There is no other word for it. His skin is smooth and olive-toned. He has sculpted abs and pecs, and a chiseled face. His biceps are ringed with tattoos and earlier I'd noticed another one on the back of his neck, some kind of symbol I don't recognize. They probably aren't gang-related; at least, I don't think so. His hair is cropped close and he looks dangerous, edgy. He eyes the gun I clip to my waist with distaste. Yeah, given what his last encounter with a weapon had cost him that isn't a surprise, even if that one was a knife.

"Where are you going?" he asks. Calm. Detached.

"Mrs. Baker heard some noise on her dock. I'm gonna walk over and check it out."

Facing away from him, I sit down on the edge of the bed and lace up my boots. He snorts and the mattress shifts. I look over my shoulder to see him getting dressed. Disappointment lances through me. Then self-recrimination. I'm a cop. I shouldn't be cavorting with ex-cons. Yeah right, an inner voice chides me. Is that what they're calling it these days, Lynn? Besides I don't have the right to be so self-righteous either. I've looked the other way a time or two when my idea of justice conflicts with the law.

"That old bat still around?" he asks.

I hide a grin. 'Old bat' is the perfect name for Mrs. Baker. I bite my lip, not at all surprised I want to laugh out loud at the description. The woman causes me no end of grief. Instead, I stand up and shrug, pushing my hands into my pockets.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he stands shirtless, his jeans zipped but unsnapped, and I long to run my hands across the smooth expanse of his chest. There'd been no chance to explore the changes in him earlier and this interlude has to be over.

We stare at each other. Three feet and a world apart. Silence hangs heavy in the room. Uncomfortable, I fidget a moment before catching myself. Wait a minute. This is my house. Trace is the interloper here.

"I need to go." I break eye contact and stride for the door. "You can see yourself out, all right? Don't bother locking up."

He grabs me at the back door, slamming me back against his chest, his arms like a vice around my waist. Leaning close, he nibbles my neck right on the pulse point, a spot that always drives me crazy. My pussy heats up. Damn. I need to get him out of my system ASAP.

"I have to go," I rasp, hating the sound, hating the weakness in my knees.

He frees me inch by inch, as if afraid I'll run off if he lets me go. And I just might. He keeps hold of my hand.

"I'll go with you," he says, turning me to meet his gaze. "You didn't think I was done with you, did you?"

His hand drops to the front of my jeans and I get wet. I fight to keep my breath even. I have the stupid, foolish hope that he isn't done. My mind flashes to my dream, with his dick buried inside my ass while my butterfly vibrator clung to my clitoris. My heart races. I haven't found a man I trust with that fantasy, yet for some reason I consider letting Trace do that to me. Must be the memory of that long ago night, when he'd been deadly but protective, ensuring I was okay before he let them drag him off. I sigh and open the door, hiding my reaction to his nearness. Remembering the past. He'd saved me and what had I done? Gone and cried to Daddy, who instead of fixing things for Trace had ruined his life. I'd hate me too, if I was him.

But I don't say any of that to him now. Instead, I walk out into the cold December night and breathe deeply, willing peace into my soul. Storm clouds had rolled in while we slept and lightning flashes in the distance. Trace pauses just outside the door.

"Well, let's go then," I say.

He falls into step beside me and we walk quietly down the river path. As I expect, Mrs. Baker's dock is lit up like the Fourth of July. I snicker quietly. Wrong season. The porch floodlight is on and I head for it, shaking my head to signal for Trace to wait for me down the trail. The door to Mrs. Baker's house swings inward when I approach and after determining the woman hasn't heard anything but muffled noise, I make my way down to the dock.

Standing on the shore, I look out into the black murkiness covering the opposite side of the river and step out onto the swaying wooden planks. I hate that Trace is present. The dock is on floating pylons and seems to sway with every breath I take. My stomach rolls and I force myself forward. I'll beat the motion sickness or it will beat me, but I still have a job to do.

At the end of the dock I blink, not registering what I see as I fight the churning in my belly. Trace's hand settles on the small of my back, and although he doesn't say a word, I feel...comforted. Focusing, I count at least three sets of muddy boot prints. I'll have to run back to the house and get my camera. Damn. I always carry the small digital gadget in my pocket. Trace is distracting me.

The sky chooses that moment to open up, a freezing deluge falling on us, and cursing my luck I turn and run. I hear Trace's footsteps pounding behind me.

Trace

All I've done for the last ten years is read and workout. I could pass her without breaking a sweat, but the view of her from behind is irresistible. The rain molds her jeans to her thighs like a second skin and the wet denim is almost as sexy as nothing at all. I admire the sleek action of her muscles as her legs pump, and when we gain her back porch I notice she isn't breathing hard either. Reaching around her, I grip the doorknob and twist it, crowding through the door behind her.

She sits down at the kitchen table and tugs at her bootlaces while I toe off my shoes and strip off the rest of my soaking clothes. If we stay cold and wet, hypothermia could set in quickly. I lean against the counter and watch her struggle with her laces until shivers rack her body. Naked, I kneel before her and push her hands away, attacking the wet laces with a steak knife. Then I stand us both up and yank the sweater over her head. She reaches for her jeans, but she's trembling so much her fibgers can't grip the zipper. I shove them away and peel them off, dropping them in the pile of sodden clothes on the floor and carry her into the bedroom.

I lay down with her, wrapping us both in the quilt and rubbing my hands up and down her back trying to pass on some of my body heat. She tries to pull away, but I hold her tight. She's not warming as fast I'd like, but the shudders have slowed enough so that she can speak without chattering.

"I have to get up, Trace."

My arms flinch around her.

"I'm okay," she says. "I have to go back out and look around. You can put your clothes in the dryer while I'm gone," she adds, wiggling free.

She is already hopping into a dry pair of jeans before I can react. She's just going to blow me off and rush back out into the downpour to see who's hanging out on an old lady's dock? Anger straightens my spine and my hands fist. Ten years of repressed rage boil to the surface and I struggle to force it down.

Looking up, she meets my gaze and freezes. After a moment she shakes it off, finishes dressing, and digs around in the closet pulling out a long yellow rain slicker with POLICE emblazoned across the back. I stalk after her and in the kitchen pick up my wet jeans, then drop them in disgust. There is no way they are going back on. Well, she has to come back here, doesn't she? I'll be waiting.

"Um, Trace," she starts.

I look up to see her shifting on her feet, her head is cocked to one side, studying me. She probably thinks I've lost my mind. Not that I care.

"Are you okay?"

My throat tightens. Damn it, I won't care. I nod. She sighs with a slight shake of her head, obviously not buying it.

"The dryer's in there." She points to a set of double doors near the refrigerator. "I won't be long."

A gust of wind and rain blow in when she steps outside, and with a small wave she's gone. I want to pace and rant, but years of confinement have instilled in me the economy of motion. Never take four steps when two will work. Never raise your voice. Never show anger. Never feel anything. It is all about survival. My survival. And the woman who has to pay for my lost years.

My stomach growls, and emotion hits me like a punch in the gut. Sagging into an uncomfortable wooden chair, I take a good look around. I'm sitting in Serenity Jameson's kitchen in my underwear and it isn't a dream. I'm free. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. How many moments will I have like this? When I realize I can move around without bumping into walls, or yell and scream, or fuck the woman that drives me out of my mind?

My belly rumbles again and I walk to her fridge. I can have a snack in the middle of the night. I open the door and arch an eyebrow. No wonder she's so thin. She has no food. There are some leftovers that look like science experiments gone wrong, a twelve pack of Diet Coke, an open bottle of wine, condiments, and buried in the back, an unopened package of sandwich meat and a couple of slices of cheese. I bring them and the mustard out and examine a loaf of bread lying on the counter. It doesn't look bad, so I slap a sandwich together and clean up.

The phone rings while I'm setting the dryer. Turning, I see the wireless unit hanging on the wall. I shouldn't answer it. Who would call this late except work or Monroe? My eyes narrow. The hell with her reputation.

"Hello?"

I grin at the string of inventive cussing that meets my ear.

"What the fuck, Trace? Haven't you had enough trouble in your life?"

I laugh. "I'm not having a lot of trouble right now, baby brother."

"Shit."

I laugh again.

"What's up, Walker?" I squint at the oven clock. "Why are you calling here at three twenty in the morning?"

He sighs. "Let me talk to Lynn. There's something going on out on the river again."

"She isn't here. Old lady Baker called her out about noise on her dock, so we walked over to have a look. Got drenched, came back here, she changed and went back out."

I wait out the silence from the other end.

"She's out there by herself?" Walker finally asks.

What the fuck?

"Is there a reason she shouldn't be? Are we babysitting cops now?" I ask sarcastically.

Again my brother hesitates, and when Walker answers fear snakes up my spine.

"Maybe," Walker answers slowly.

Blinking into the darkness, I rub my hand over my face. Need to take a razor to the stubble later. I snort. The things you thought about when worry came into play. I haven't worried about anybody but myself or my brother since...no, I'm not going there.

"What's going on, Walker?"

"She's not sure." I can hear the shrug in my brother's voice. "My bet would be smugglers. The Gulf isn't far downstream and Madison is a small town. Not much police activity."

Smugglers. Just great. Probably drug dealers.

"You don't know?"

"That's not our thing, man."

He's right. Neither of us were ever into drugs. We've watched them destroy too many people. Hunter also refuses to work with anyone who deals or uses. If it is drug smugglers she's in a world of trouble and it's not my people so I can't help her. Can she handle it? Walker reads my mind.

"She was a detective in Birmingham before she came back here. A narc. I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

I smile. Walker is trying to reassure me. How have we ended up so wrapped up in the life of a cop when I haven't even been around? The cop who'd landed me in prison, no less. It's too damned weird. Of course, I had to go straight after her when I got out. Predictable. I blink. Yes, I'd done the expected thing. And what else would people anticipate from me? Maybe I can help her. Find the local action, and how grateful would she be? Hunter would have my ass for getting involved with drug running, but it didn't have to go that far. I just want information.

With the rain still driving into the roof, I sense more than hear a movement in the back yard. Saying goodbye to my brother, I assure him I'll watch my back but I refuse to make any promises about Serenity. I'm sitting facing the door when she comes in, shaking off rain. She looks over at me and scowls.

"Still here, huh?"

She hangs the poncho on a hook by the door and sits down at the table. I sense her withdrawal, and where before it would have pissed me off, now I consider it a challenge. Her expression is closed as she bends to pull off her boots.

"Clothes not dry yet?"

"Nope," I answer, leaning back in the chair. She tenses even more at my casual I-belong-in-this-kitchen pose. Her eyes narrow.

"Don't get too comfortable," she says.

A slow smile spreads across my face.

"Do you ever wonder where you'd be if that night hadn't happened? If Billy Thompson hadn't died?"

I hit pay dirt. She pales. Standing, I round the table and pull her hard against me.

"I've had ten years to wonder," I whisper. "And the only answer I've ever come up with is inside you."

She takes a deep breath and her chest rises. I can't help a look down her shirt. She is a nice round C-cup, I guess. She hadn't bothered with a bra before rushing back out and her pink areolas call out to me. I trail a fingertip along the edge of her top, just grazing her skin, and smile when goose bumps rise in its wake.

"You've thought about it, too," I say.

"No," she says huskily, shaking her head. "I got on with my life."

I might have bought that if her nipples hadn't gone hard under my palm. I add a gentle squeeze, and she groans and arches into me. Giving into the temptation, I slide my other hand down her back and cup her ass. I want there too, and soon. But for now I'll settle for some kind of regular arrangement. One that involves fucking her every way I can think of for the next week.

She shivers and I notice how cool her skin is under the sweater. I would have noticed earlier if she didn't distract me so much. Lifting her up, I carry her to the bath I interrupted when she'd first come home. I sit her on the toilet seat, turn on the shower, and watch her pull off her clothes. Her skin is pimpled from the cold and I resist self-recrimination. I'm not her keeper, but maybe I shouldn't have let her leave the second time, or should have at least made her warm up right away when she came back. Struggling to repress my reaction to her condition, I take off my underwear and step under the hot spray.

She hesitates before joining me and years of patient waiting keep me from growling at the delay. I want her now. Stepping under the water, she tilts her face up, unashamed, and lets it stream over her. My cock does the impossible and gets even harder. Her back is to me and I move in behind her, letting my dick bump her ass. She sways against me and I moan.

Sliding my arms around her, I palm one breast while my fingers delve through the curls hiding her cunt. With a groan she rubs against me, and her nipple pebbles under my hand. I give it a gentle twist and am rewarded by her cream coating my fingers. Lifting them to my lips, I suck one into my mouth. I love her taste. I want more. Stepping away I position her with her back against the stall's slick wall. Her eyelids droop, and she mutters a protest. I kneel in front her, put my hands on her ankles, and slid them up to her thighs, nudging them apart when I reach her pussy.

She glistens with water and her juices, and I lean forward to lap at her in one long swipe. Groaning, she spreads her arms across the wall for support and tilts her hips toward my face. I grin. She may not like it, but her body is mine. The chemistry between us has survived the years and has grown even hotter. Returning to my task, I spread her lips with the fingers of one hand and thrust two from the other deep inside her. I find her clit and she squirms under my soft bite.

I flick my tongue over it and thrust my fingers in and out of her in a lazy rhythm. Moaning, she grinds her body against my mouth, and her thighs tremble around my face. Incredible. She is coming already. I suck on her clit and she explodes, cream coating my tongue and shudders racking her body. God, I'm so turned on I might come before I get inside her.

I reach over the edge of the tub for the foil packet I'd dropped and rip it open. Sitting back on my thighs, I roll the condom on and pull her down on my straining cock. I won't last long. She is so tight around me. It completely meshes with my memory of her, the fit of her, that when I lean my head back and close my eyes, the fantasy that she'd been waiting for me when I'd walked out through those gates comes to life.

I lift her with ease, plunging in and out of her, grinding against her clit. She clamps down around me and keens with a second orgasm. I come in a rush, out of nowhere, the push over the edge from either the sensation or the sound of her coming, I'm not sure which. But I am sure of one thing--that it is incredible and I want to do it over and over again.

Serenity

I relax against his chest and he draws slow circles on my back. My breathing grows even while we sit on the floor of the shower. I doze and he lets me, until the water runs ice cold. Then he nudges me awake and sets me aside to turn off the faucet before wrapping me in a towel and leading me into the bedroom.

I dry off, using the towel to squeeze water from my hair before diving under the blankets. I've lost my damned mind--it is the only explanation for what is going on here. Whatever that is. Who am I kidding? I know exactly what's happening.

Sex. Just really awesome, screaming good sex.

That is all it is. The little hitch in my chest when Trace struts around the bed like he belongs here doesn't mean a damned thing. Appreciation for a good-looking guy. That's it. Yeah, right. God, I'm in trouble. One day? He's been back one day and I'm going moon-eyed? I roll over and squeeze my eyes closed, knowing I should kick him out, but unwilling to call an end to the night.

I dreamed about him for years, compared other men--decent, law-abiding men--to him for years. It's normal to want to explore that old attraction, right? One night, then he is off limits forever. Madison has a long memory. I was lucky to get the detective offer and I'm not going to screw up my career over what amounts to a girlhood crush. Never mind that it's a career I'm thinking about getting out of. Besides, Trace might be great in the sack, but he is emotionally unavailable. I went to him before he stood trial and he'd been clear in his rebuff--he didn't want to see me or hear from me.

The light clicks off and he climbs into bed next to me, rolling close and pulling me into his arms. I never spend an entire night with a man. Maybe I'm emotionally unavailable, too. I didn't stay the night with Trace before either, and am dismayed at how natural it feels. Usually after I screw a guy, I want the bed and the house to myself. This time, I'm not in a hurry to kick him out--and that can't be good.

"This can't happen again," I say.

His arms tighten around me and his voice is cold. "You're saying this is a one time thing?"

"It has to be," I say softly. "I like my job. I want to keep it." That's not true but he doesn't need to know that.

He grunts. "I don't care about your job or your reputation. We'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

I sigh. That is impossible.

"We'll work something out," he whispers in my ear.

God help me, I want to believe we can. I drift off to sleep wondering why it feels so right to be with the town bad boy, a man I was partly responsible for sending to prison ten years ago and who it is obvious has very mixed feelings about me. I don't dare take too close a look at my own.

#  Chapter Three

Trace

I sleep a couple hours but it's a lost cause after six. Sleeping in is a skill I will apparently have to relearn. I head back to Walker's for coffee and food since Serenity has neither. I'm not surprised to find the house quiet. In my room I find a stack of clean clothes Walker left. I pull out jeans and a shirt and head to the shower. Shave. Dress. The morning routine never changes. I'm not sure if that's good or if I need to shake things up. Maybe I should add sex to it. I'll do that tomorrow.

In the kitchen I figure out the coffee maker and search the fridge, settle on eggs and sausage. Walker comes in just in time to eat. He grabs a mug and coffee first, slugs down two cups before he joins me at the table.

"What time do you open the garage?" I ask.

"Ten most days. I usually go to the gym first."

Good. I want to talk to Hunter about Tim Monroe. If anyone knows what that shithead is up to it's the boss. I'll do whatever it takes to keep him away from Serenity. "I'll go with you."

Ten minutes later we walk into the gym. I notice the sign on the door says it's open Monday to Friday from noon to eight but there are obviously exceptions. Hunter and Ryder are watching Lake spar with a guy I've never seen or don't remember. I join them and watch. The new guy is young and it shows. If he's training for one of the underground matches he's gonna get his ass kicked. He's not fighting nearly dirty enough.

"What do you think?" Hunter asks me.

"I wouldn't bet any money of him."

"He's training for a charity tournament. Won't be any betting on that."

Not officially, but I know better. Hunter has probably already opened the book on the tournament. I turn back to the match.

"He's fast and strong. And stubborn," I add when he climbs to his feet after the second time Lake dumps him on his ass. Stubborn can get you pretty damned far. Hunter smiles at me as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. He probably does. I've won a few fights against very long odds.

"I told you to take a couple days," he says.

I shrug. "I need to be doing something."

"Understood," he says. "Let's go to my office."

Ryder follows us inside and shuts the door behind him. Hunter sits behind his desk.

"Have you seen her?" he asks me. I don't need to ask who.

"Yeah," I answer but I don't elaborate. I can tell by his expression he doesn't approve. Then he sighs.

"Ten years in prison wasn't a high enough price to pay for that? No piece of ass is that good."

I ball my fists and throttle down the urge to attack. I don't like hearing anyone talk about Serenity that way. I take a deep breath and force my body to relax. I'm not the hot head I was ten years ago.

"It's my business," I say. "And it won't interfere with yours."

"She's a cop, Trace."

Yeah, I can't argue with that one but Walker told me over breakfast she's considering quitting. I'll ask her when I see her tonight but if she's talked to my brother about it, she's serious. It kind of pisses me off she didn't tell me. Fuck no. Instead she'd try to break this off whatever it is. I'll deal with her tonight.

"It won't be a problem," I tell Hunter.

I don't know why this is so important to me. That my boss, my friends, accept this damned strange situation I find myself in. Sometime between last night and this morning I decided I was keeping her around for awhile. If Walker is right and she doesn't want to be a cop anymore it might even work. Besides, she doesn't need to know about the illegal stuff. Hell, she's a smart woman. She knows about Hunter and his operation I'm sure.

"Fuck," the boss mutters. "It's your funeral. I know you won't take any of us down with you."

"Fuck no."

"You up for a fight? Two weeks from now in Panama City."

"New Year's Eve?"

He nods.

"Hell yeah."

Those fights are heavily attended. The money will be big.

"Work with Lake. It's been a long time so expect a gruesome week."

"No problem," I say.

I don't ask about the other action yet. They're gonna need time to get used to me being back. And then there's Serenity. She understandably makes them nervous. Which reminds me of my other problem.

"What's Tim Monroe up to?"

Hunter gives me a cold look I recognize. I've pushed a button there. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug. "He's sniffing around Serenity. I don't like it."

He relaxes a little bit. What the hell is going on? "Monroe stays out of my business and I stay out of his."

His tone says the conversation is over and I don't argue. I'll ask Walker later if there's bad blood I should know about. First I go find Lake who's done with the tournament guy and pulls me into the ring with him. It's a long grueling match that reminds that while I've stayed in shape it's been a long time since I've fought. It takes awhile to get back into the rhythm but I'm confident when we finish that I'll be ready in a two weeks.

A couple hours later, showered and in clean clothes, I go to the garage. Walker has a rock station on the radio. I walk around. It's a big space, the tools are newish and well cared for, and three cars are waiting. I get to work and it's surreal. I slip back into the old routine like I was never gone. I'm amazed when I finish with a timing belt to find it closing time.

"So you're gonna fight New Year's?" Walker asks as I wash my hands.

"Yeah. You?"

"On your big come back night? No way."

I laugh but I don't push him for the real reason. "I asked Hunter about Monroe."

Walker winces. "Don't do that, man."

"What's the deal?"

"Honor Monroe. Tim's her second cousin or something."

"And?"

"Good question," Walker says sarcastically. "You know Hunter. He's not very open. All I know is he had an argument with Tim about Honor. Mention either of them and he gets a poker up his ass so spare us all please."

Great. That isn't much help. But it's not my only option. I'm sure I'll be seeing other old friends and acquaintances in the next few days. I'll get information from them.

Serenity

I'm late to lunch because my whole day has been thrown off balance. First I overslept and woke up alone which instead of being grateful for had just pissed me off. It was a bad start. I got to the office to find the mayor, the chief, and half the council waiting for me demanding to know what I was going to do about Trace. For a minute there I'd thought I was busted but nope they just want me to run him out of town. After I explained--over and over again--that I can't do that they gave me some peace but not without a few dirty looks. I sense my days here are numbered. That doesn't really bother me. What to do next does.

I park the car in the lot of a popular River City restaurant and enter the gate onto the patio. My friends texted me to let me know where they were and I walk around the corner and down the side of the building to join them. Honor Monroe, who is actually my cousin, her mother and my mother were sisters, stands up to hug me.

"Wow. You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks," I answer. I know she's right. I had a long night and left the house without even a lick of makeup. Faye is next and she isn't as blunt.

"Sit down, honey. Are we having a caffeine or alcohol lunch?"

I laugh and take a seat. It's Friday and the three of us have a standing lunch date. Sometimes one of our other friends join us. This is what I missed so much the years I'd lived in Birmingham, one of the reasons I came home. The waitress shows up with my sweetened iced tea. Yeah. They definitely know us here.

"The usual?" she asks and I nod.

She flits off and Honor leans close. "So have you seen him yet?"

Oh, yeah, I've seen him all right. I blush.

"And that's a big fat yes," Faye says. "What did you do, girl?"

I'm not sure if confessing will catch me hell or if they just want the dirty details. I need Grace--Honor's twin sister--for this, but I won't be able to call her until later and right now I'm ready to burst.

"I saw him."

"And?" Honor prods.

"I slept with him." I just spit it out, because really, how do I sugarcoat that? "And it was awesome."

They both just stare at me for a minute and then Faye asks the million dollar question. "Are you going to do it again?"

"I shouldn't," I hedge.

Faye breaks into a grin. "But you want to."

I can't deny it. "What the hell am I doing? I'm a cop for crissakes."

"He did his time," Honor points out. "Paid his debt to society and all that."

I want to snort at that but don't. That was a debt he shouldn't have had to pay, but I have no allusions about Trace Graham. He was a criminal before he defended me that night and it won't take long before he is back to his old ways.

"Besides," Honor continues. "You don't want to be a cop anymore, remember? Go ahead and quit."

"It's not that easy."

"No, it's not," she agrees softly and I know she's thinking about Hunter Wallace. I don't know what the story is there and I don't push for answers. She's made it clear she doesn't want to talk about him.

"So what are you going to do?" Faye asks.

"I have no idea."

I need to stay away from him and I know it. But I don't think I have the willpower. Maybe I should take a short, spur of the moment vacation. Get my head back on straight.

"Lynn," Faye says, setting her hand over mine. "You have to make a decision. If you're going to be with a man like him..."

She lets the sentence trail off but she doesn't need to finish it. I know. I can have my life as I know it now or Trace. For as long as he wants me anyway. I can't have both. Put that way, it's an easy decision.

"You're right. This can't happen. We needed one night. Closure and all that crap. But that's it."

"Good."

Faye squeezes my hand but Honor looks unconvinced. I change the subject.

"How's work?"

Honor is a personal assistant. She has two part time clients that keep her hopping. We're always on her to slow down not that it does any good.

"It's fine. I won't be here for Christmas but Grace will."

"They're making you work the holiday out of town?" Faye asks and I'm just as incredulous as she is.

Honor shrugs. "Mark needs me on this business trip. It's fine. It's just one year."

I know she makes great money and loves what she does but I wish she'd be more assertive and learn to say no. I'll talk to Grace about it. Maybe she'll have better luck. Faye, a local DJ, entertains us the rest of lunch with outrageous stories about her coworkers. All in all, it's a good hour and I hate having to go back to work. The afternoon drags on. I finish some paperwork and write a couple speeding tickets before going home. Trace's car is parked out front when I pull in. Shit. Is he gonna cause a scene? How did he get in?

I find him in the kitchen cooking dinner and the sight of him, only wearing jeans and stirring something that smells divine, strikes me dumb. This is bad. I'm supposed to be saying no. I'm supposed to be extricating myself.

"What are you doing here?"

He looks back over his shoulder. "Feeding you. Someone has to."

I narrow my eyes at the implied insult. "I can take care of myself just fine, thanks."

"Indulge me then," he says and I wonder who this stranger is.

He's much more relaxed than yesterday and that can't just be from sex. Even great sex. He starts opening cabinets, searching for plates I guess and I drop my bag and move to help. That's when I get my first good look at his side and chest. He has a nasty bruise stretching across the bottom of his ribs and twisting down one side. I gasp and brush my fingers over it.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

One day and he's already in trouble? He chuckles and I want to smack him upside the head. He takes my hands away from the bruises.

"It's nothing, baby. I was sparring with Lake this morning."

I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. I know what this means. I stare up at him and wish I still smoked. The hell with it. I'm having one. And a stiff drink. I dig out a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, carry it and a glass to the table, then get a small saucer and the last pack of cigarettes I haven't been able to make myself throw away. The lighter is right there with it. I take a drink before I light up, doing my damnedest to ignore Trace but he makes it impossible.

"Those things'll kill you," he says.

"Yeah," I snap back. "So will illegal, no rules, no holds barred fights."

I know about them, of course. Hell, I know cops who don't just go to them but participate. It's a particular brand of stupid some men seem to be into.

"Serenity," he says carefully. "There are some things we probably shouldn't talk about."

I stare at him. The man has lost his fucking mind.

"Why are you here?"

"I thought we'd have dinner."

"And then?"

He turns cold and it makes me hot. Man, I am so twisted. "Then I thought I'd fuck you until you scream again."

I shake my head and down another shot. "Not if you lie to me."

I want to slap myself this time. I'm supposed to be shutting this down. Not encouraging him. Not inviting confidences that put us both in an impossible position.

"Walker said you're thinking about quitting," Trace says. "You do that and we'll talk."

It's my turn to go cold. I can't believe Walker told him that. But he does have a point. I don't need to know what he's into. I'm conflicted enough as it is. Still...

"You'll be careful?"

"So you do care," he says. I give serious consideration to slapping the smirk off his face.

"I'd hate to be the one that sends you back to prison," I say instead and my words hit home.

If he was cold before this is arctic. "I won't go back to prison. Is this how it's going to be with us? Veiled threats and innuendos?"

I'm confused and pissed off. I'm not the criminal here. Why is he making me out to be the bad guy?

"There is no us, Trace. There can't be. You know that."

He gives me a look I can't interpret. "I'm not done with you yet."

His words should piss me off but I feel the same way. One night wasn't enough to get him out of my system. I don't need all this bullshit courtship though. We both know he's just looking to get even and I'm trying to exorcise the past. He'll get bored before me probably. Before I can lay down ground rules he sets a plate in front of me. Southern goulash. I haven't had it in ages and it's surprisingly good. Neither of us attempt conversation while we eat or do the dishes, which amazingly he helps with. But as soon as the last dish is put away he grabs my shoulders and pulls me flush up against him.

It's a soul sucking kiss and I know he's been thinking about this all day too. We are the last two people who should be together but we fit so damned well. It's explosive. Addictive. He slides his hands down to my waist and freezes.

"You need to get rid of that."

I pull my pistol off my belt and set it on the counter behind me, then my badge. He bends his face back to mine, hands gripping my hips.

"Much better," he whispers before he kisses me again.

He tugs my shirt up and I let him, lifting my arms over my head so he can pull it free and toss it aside. My bra goes next and then his mouth is on me, licking my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. It feels so good I cradle his head and hold him told me, groaning when he pulls free and reaches for the snap on my pants.

"You need to be naked," he mutters.

Just me? How's that fair? He gets my pants open and slips his hand inside my panties. His fingers find me wet and he spears them into my pussy. It's exquisite and perfect and I come with a scream. Who needs extended foreplay? Apparently not me when it's Trace touching me. He tugs my pants down and I hear paper ripping. The condom. But he scowls down at me.

"No time for the boots," he says.

I have no idea what he's talking about, I'm riding so high. He lifts me and carries me to the table, puts his hand on my back urging me to lean over it. I get the idea and brace myself on my forearms. And then there is no thinking as he thrusts into me hard from behind. God, I want to weep from the perfection of it. Why does the wrong guy feel so damned right?

I don't get time to ponder this mystery. He picks up my hand and sucks a finger into his mouth. It makes my toes curl and then he moves my hand to my pussy. I don't have to be told what he wants. I find my clit and the first stroke makes me moan. He buries his face in the curve between my shoulder and neck. Kisses me.

"That's it, baby. Rub your clit. I want you coming on my cock when I come."

His words, coarse and harsh, turn me on. He's never spoken to me like this before. A lot of years have gone by but I think this is because he's losing control. He can let loose with me now, and damn, I like it. I'm not young and naïve anymore and he knows it. I do as he asks and rub my clit as he slowly thrusts into me. He takes his time. Long, slow, tortuous strokes. The head of his cock drags across my G-spot over and over again. It feels so damned good I rub my clit harder. I want to come now. I can't stand the anticipation any longer. I'm almost there when he grabs my hand and stops me.

"Not yet," he pants. "So good."

And I agree it's way beyond good but I can't hold off my climax anymore. It rushes through me in a wave starting at my core and spreading out. He groans as my muscles spasm around him and when I begin to come down he starts to fuck me. It's fast and hard. A little rough. Incredible. He strums my clit and whispers in my ear.

"I'm so close, baby. Come with me. Come again."

Oh god. His voice. It's gruff and needy and everything I always dreamed of. I have to remind myself this isn't real. It's sex. It isn't emotion. It isn't the beginning of something strong and lasting. But it's impossible to hold my body back. I respond to his order, to his fingers and his cock. I come in an orgasm so fierce I know I'll never be the same again. He fucks me a few more strokes as I shudder in the aftermath and then with a long drawn out grunt he comes too.

I drop to my chest across the table. Worn out, last night catching up to me hard, I'm not sure I can walk to the bedroom much less get out of the rest of my clothes. I should be mortified--I will be later--about having crazy monkey sex on my kitchen table. Now I'm too blissed out to care. He pulls out, drawing a low moan from me, and chuckles. I think about getting up as he moves away but he's back too quick for me to get myself moving.

He picks me up and carries me to my room, laying me down gently on the bed. He removes my boots and pulls off my pants and underwear. Taking care of me and I'm not sure what to make of it, but I'm so damned tired I refuse to think about it. The last thing I'm aware of before I drift off to sleep is Trace spooning up behind me, but I don't have the energy or the will to send him away.

#  Chapter Four

Serenity

I shut the door to my office and pull my cell phone out of my pocket. I didn't get a chance to call Grace last night but I know this early in the morning she's probably in her office. She answers on the second ring.

"You are a bad bad girl, Serenity Lynn Jameson," she drawls.

I sink into the chair behind my desk and swivel to look out the window. "Talked to Honor, huh?"

"Yep. It's decision time, cuz."

"I know."

We've been talking about this for weeks. My life and what I'm going to do with it. I have few options and honestly I don't have a clue what I want to be when I grow up. I'm twenty eight. How did this happen? I was a cop in a big city for years and got this job because no one else will do it for the crap pay I get. Money isn't an issue for me. I have a trust fund from my grandmother that I've never touched. I'm not stinking rich but I definitely won't starve. I can give notice to the chief today if I want to. And I want to.

"Well?"

I sigh. "I'm doing it. Today."

"Then what? You should take a few weeks at least, figure out what to do. Hell, go back to school."

That is something I do want to do. I'd dropped out of college to join the police department. There's a four year university in River City I can go to. I've already downloaded the application.

"Yeah that's part of the plan." I laugh. "That's the only plan actually."

"You can always go into business with me," she says and this is something we've talked about also.

Grace is a private investigator in Atlanta, and like me she's ready to come home. She's planning to set up shop in River City in a few months. I'll be happy to have her close but I'm not interested in the offer.

"I think I'll leave that to you."

She sighs. "I know. Sooo. Trace? What are you doing, honey?"

I groan. "I wish I knew. I mean, the sex is phenomenal but he isn't going to change. Even after I leave law enforcement I'm not sure if I can live with that."

She's silent a long time and I begin to worry. "You're thinking long term."

It almost sounds like an accusation and I cringe.

"That would be crazy, right? I'm certifiable but I can't seem to help myself."

She sighs. "I wish I knew what to tell you, Lynn. Just be careful okay?"

I don't tell her careful went out the window the minute I saw him getting out of the car two days ago. We say our goodbyes and I type up my letter of resignation effective January 15. It's a huge relief. I carry it to the chief's office myself. His eyebrows rise as he reads it.

"You're sure about this?"

"I am," I say. "Give the job to Franklin. He's qualified."

Franklin runs our small patrol division. He's a few years older than me and resents the hell out me taking the job he wants. I'll be glad to be done with him. We say our goodbyes and I head out. I have two things I want to wrap up before I resign: whatever is going on on the river and finding a missing man, Magee. I'm pretty sure he's dead and Tim Monroe is responsible for it.

A week after Magee disappeared, Tim says Magee called him from Mexico claiming he was fed up with his life and was starting over. Magee's wife claims that is a crock. I agree, since I was supposed to meet the man the same day he went missing. He'd claimed he had information on Tim's business and then just upped and left? No fucking way.

I know Tim is dirty, but he's damned careful. So far I haven't found any proof. I think he's responsible for bringing drugs into the county, maybe more than that. He's capable of anything: dealing, trafficking, extortion, murder. If only I can prove it. I've tried to get closer to him to find a crack in the façade but so far no luck.

Which reminds me of Trace's reaction to hearing I've been dating Tim. Walker obviously told him but he doesn't know why. I have a feeling if I explain things to Trace he'll blow a gasket. I have no idea what's going on between us but there's no mistaking the possessiveness.

My phone rings and I groan when I see the number.

"Yeah," I answer.

"We need to talk. Come to the gym," Hunter demands.

"I'm not one of your boys, Hunter," I say. "What do you want?"

"Not on the phone."

"Fine. I'll be there in a few minutes."

I wonder what he wants. It probably has something to do with Trace. I'm sure he doesn't approve of us. Even though the gym isn't open yet, the parking lot is half full. Hunter is waiting towards the back next to a ring where two people are fighting. As I draw near I see it's Trace and Lake. Damn. I know instinctively he's not going to appreciate my being here.

"I'm here," I say softly to Hunter. "What do you want?"

"Where's Honor?"

The question blindsides me and I stare at him. "You could have asked me that on phone."

"And you would have avoided the question like you're doing now."

I cross my arms over my chest and turn to study him. He actually looks worried.

"She's fine. She went out of town for a few days for work."

He nods and is quiet for a long time, ostensibly focused on the fight. I reluctantly turn back to it and wince as Lake lands a punch to Trace's kidney. If this keeps up he won't be of any use to me until after the damned fight. I called around and found out there's one New Year's Eve in Panama City. I bet that's the one he's training for.

"So this thing with you and Trace," he says. "It's serious?"

"I don't know," I murmur. Is that the real reason he called me here?

"It'll never work. Not with your job."

"That won't be an issue after the fifteenth." I can't believe I tell him that. He cocks an eyebrow.

"So it is serious."

I shrug. I have no idea what it is.

"And Monroe?"

"What about him?"

"Does he know he's history?"

No he doesn't. But he will soon enough.

"Be careful, Lynn. He's dangerous," he warns me.

"You know if y'all would help instead of warning me off, I might actually get to lock him up."

He gives me a stern look. "You know I can't do that."

"Honor among thieves, huh?" I ask sarcastically.

It's a mistake to taunt him but I don't care. Fortunately before he can retaliate, Trace climbs out of the ring and joins us. He's perfected an indifferent mask and I have no idea what he's thinking. He doesn't touch me and only glances at me briefly.

"What's up?"

Hunter and I stare at each other a minute. I get the feeling he doesn't want to answer that anymore than I do.

"I was just asking about a stolen Lexus," I say, saving us both from one awkward conversation at least.

And I really do have a report of a stolen Lexus on my desk. I know I won't find any evidence of it in Walker's garage. They take care of that someplace else. I mentally run through the list of properties Hunter owns around the county. If I can find out where the chop shop is it might be worth a trade to him. My smile makes both men narrow their eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

"You know, Hunter, we could help each other here."

"How?" he asks suspiciously.

I shrug one shoulder. "I could skip tearing apart every piece of property you own for a sixty mile radius and you can tell me everything you know about Tim Monroe."

He turns to Trace with a cold furious look that makes my stomach knot. "You said this wasn't going to be a problem."

"This has jack shit to do with him," I snap. "You and I have been working around to this conversation for weeks."

He glares down at me. "I don't know anything about a missing car and good luck getting those warrants."

I won't even try and we both know it. Even if I find the right property and convince a judge, he'll have the place clean. I won't find shit. Worse, I think I've just made an enemy of Hunter Wallace and that could cause me no end of headaches. Still, I have to try.

"Look, Hunter, I know you're basically a good guy." Not on the right side of the law but whatever. "Tim is not. He's dirty as hell and he's a snake. He can't be good for anyone else's business around here."

It's a good argument. He remains stubbornly silent though. By this point I realize we've drawn a crowd. Lake, Ryder, and Walker are all standing around him. They are a big imposing bunch and they're intentionally trying to intimidate me. It's not working. Well, much. I sigh and throw my hands up in the air. I know I'm not getting anywhere, but I glare at Walker and Trace before I leave. Neither one of them say a word and their silence makes it pretty damned clear where they stand. Not with me. I'm surprised how much that hurts.

"You have my number if you change your mind," I say.

"I won't."

Unfortunately, I believe him.

Trace

I watch Serenity leave and wonder how much shit I'm in. I'm gonna have to work to get back into her bed, and I've also managed to piss off Hunter even though her confronting him doesn't have a fucking thing to do with me. Why the hell did she do that? It's also clear there's a lot going on I don't know about. With her and with my friends. Is she dating Monroe or investigating him? And I haven't heard a damned thing about the car either.

"What the fuck is going on?" I ask.

"Your girlfriend needs to get out of my business," Hunter snarls.

I'm taken aback at both his tone and calling her my girlfriend.

"Tell her to back off, Trace," he continues. "She doesn't have much time left. No point in causing problems now."

"Much time left for what?" That sounds threatening and I don't like it one damned bit.

"She's quitting her job. She didn't tell you?"

I shake my head. I'm the one who needed to know that. Why had she told Hunter first? I look at Walker who shrugs. He didn't know she'd made that decision either. I narrow my eyes. I bet he knows what's up with her and Monroe.

"And Tim Monroe?"

Everyone tenses up, especially Hunter.

"I'm pretty sure she's investigating him. She's right. He's dirty as hell."

I'm not surprised. Tim Monroe is a rich asshole, always has been. I was twenty when I went to prison and Monroe is my age. My friends and I stayed away from drugs, too messy, and Tim had filled the void. I'm sure that hasn't changed.

"Tell me something I don't know, brother."

Hunter looks around. The clock has slid past ten and the gym is filling up. "Not here," he says, and we all trek into the office.

"Talk," I order my little brother once the door closes behind us. "Tell me about Monroe."

I hope Walker won't shut me down like Hunter has. He sighs, goes to the mini-fridge and pulls out a beer. I cock my eyebrows. At ten in the morning? His expression is grim and he salutes me with the bottle.

"You might want one too."

I don't think so but I'm getting worried. How deep in the shit is Serenity?

"Monroe's dirty," Walker says.

I snort. "Tell me something I don't know, little brother."

He smiles slightly. Everyone else is suspiciously quiet. This is not good.

"No one can catch him at anything illegal and most of the good people of Madison think he walks on water. He's running drugs. I don't know how big his operation is. Not my thing."

I'm not really surprised at this revelation and notice Hunter isn't either.

"Tell me something I don't know, I said."

"Okay. About a week and a half ago, a couple of kids found ten thousand dollars cash down on the riverbank near Mrs. Baker's dock."

That's a lot of cash to find floating around in Madison. I reach for Walker's beer and take a long drink.

"Got your attention, huh?"

I nod once. "Go on."

He shrugs. "There really isn't more. That's the problem. We live on a quiet little cove, but there's been a lot of unexplained night activity. You know that already. The money. A lot more drug activity than usual."

He pauses. "Then there's Monroe and his squeaky clean image. We all know that's a crock. His dad almost bankrupted them before good ole Tim took over and turned their business around in a year. He started out building warehouses down on the bay. He's building condos on the beach now."

"Not much to go on there."

Walker fidgets, and I know there is more. Something I'm really not going to like hearing.

"Remember Magee?"

"Shrimpy little kid used to hang out with Monroe?"

Walker snorts. "Yeah. Well, he went to work for Monroe, on one of his construction crews. Couple of weeks ago, he called Lynn and told her he needed to talk to her about Monroe's business. Set up a secret meeting and everything. He never showed up. No one's seen him since, actually."

Great. Walker's story has just gone from weird lights and found money--harmless enough--to missing people. Lowlife people, but still. What the hell is Serenity getting mixed up in?

I turn to Hunter and he shakes his head. "This isn't our business."

"She is my business," I say softly, knowing I'm probably burning every bridge in town. Hunter swears under his breath then looks me in the eye.

"I know what this woman means to you, Trace, and if I could help I would. Get her to back off. It's not just herself she's putting in danger by pushing this."

I remember something Walker said to me earlier. "Honor?" I ask.

"I want her kept out of this," he snaps. "Lynn's made her own choices."

What the fuck is going on? I know it's not my business but... "Monroe is using her against you, isn't he? Why?"

He glowers and I don't think he's going to answer but he surprises me. "He knows I don't like what he does. As long as I don't rat on him, he'll leave us alone. But even if I was willing to take that risk, I won't risk her life."

I'm pissed on his behalf. "He's threatened her? Aren't they family?"

"Second cousins. She's Lynn's cousin, you know. Their mothers were sisters."

I vaguely remember this. It should have registered earlier. If Monroe is as dangerous as they all seem to think I might be able to use that connection to get Serenity to drop it.

"And yeah," Hunter continues. "He's made it clear he considers her fair game. Family doesn't mean shit to him."

Hunter clearly isn't going to do anything that might put her in the line of fire. And he expects me to somehow get Serenity to back down. The woman is stubborn as hell. I don't know if it's possible but I'm going to try.

"How deep is Monroe?" I ask.

If he saved his family business in a year he's hooked up with someone with deep pockets. Hunter shakes his head.

"I don't know much. I think he might be involved with one of the Mexican cartels. If they think Monroe is close to getting busted they'll clean house and everyone connected with him will be fair game. Shut her down, Trace."

Oh fuck. This is not good. I weigh my options. They pretty much suck. My chances of getting her to back off are nil and none. But I can't help her either. Hunter is right. If Monroe is in with a cartel there's no way out. If Serenity succeeds in bringing Monroe down, they'll go after her just for the fun of it. So what do I do? Do I stick my neck out for this woman who didn't do the same for me? Or do I walk away. Walking is the only smart thing to do but I'm not sure I can. She has a hold me that not even ten years in prison can break. And--I look around the room--these guys are my family. They're the ones who stood by me when she disappeared.

I look at Hunter and I don't like what I see. I recognize it. I've seen it on my own face. He's wrapped up in this woman, Honor, and he'll do whatever he thinks he has to to protect her. He doesn't care much what that will do to me or Serenity either. He rubs his hand over his face and mutters, "shit, Trace."

And I'm so feeling that sentiment.

"I'll talk to her," I say, "but I doubt it will do any good."

"Try," he says.

I nod. "I will."

Though we both know I'll be wasting my breath.

#  Chapter Five

Serenity

It's after six and I'm pulling into my driveway when Honor finally calls me back.

"Hey! What the fuck is up with you and Hunter Wallace?" I snap.

There's a long silence. Too long. I check the phone but we're still connected. "Honor?"

"There's nothing going on. He's asked me out but I know what he is and I'm not interested."

Liar, liar. She's interested all right. She's just chicken. And listen to me casting stones. She's right and I know it and I'm just not sure I give a shit anymore.

"Why?" she asks.

"He demanded I meet him at his gym this morning to ask where the hell you are."

And that was a complete cluster fuck. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and stare at Trace as he steps out on to my front porch. I need better locks. He can obviously get past mine.

"What did you tell him?"

"That you're out of town on business. Is that a lie?"

I suddenly wonder if that's an excuse she gave us so she could avoid Hunter. Dude, she doesn't have to do that with me. I get it more than anyone else does.

"No, it really is a business trip. Let it go, Lynn. It's not happening so no worries."

She sounds firm and resolute and who am I to argue? Especially with Trace standing a few yards away, arms crossed over his chest and looking supremely pissed off.

"When will you be home?" I ask her.

"The twenty-seventh. Grace will still be town so we'll all get together, 'kay?"

"Sure. No problem. I'll see you then."

We say our goodbyes and taking a deep breath, I get out of the car. He doesn't say a word as I pass him and walk into the house. He's cooked again. It smells divine. Who is this guy and what has he done with Trace Graham? I head straight to the kitchen and to the stove, lifting the lid on a pot of marina sauce and breathing the scent in. Incredible. Why is he taking care of me? Is it just about the sex? When I look at him I don't have a clue. He's just so...detached. It irritates me no end.

"You need to stop breaking into my house," I snap. He just cocks an eyebrow.

"We both have to eat, Serenity. And you know as well as I do, at some point tonight we're gonna end up in bed together."

I feel a little lightheaded at the image that statement evokes and firm my resolve. He's so damned cocky. Am I that big a pushover? Or just that far gone? I remember the scene at the gym this morning and the way he stood against me. I didn't expect him to take my side but he could have at least stayed neutral. And that is a damned good reminder of why I shouldn't be fucking him. I shouldn't care about what he does or doesn't do or how he treats me when other people are around. But damn it. I do.

"Oh you're gonna have do some groveling before you get back in my bed," I snap.

He doesn't say a word as I pour a drink and light a cigarette but I see the distaste on his face. I guess he's had ten years to kick the habit. He probably thinks I'm weak and have no willpower. The hell with him. While I watch he fills a pot with water, puts it on the stove and turns the heat to high. There's a box of spaghetti waiting on the counter but he doesn't touch it.

"You're playing with fire, baby," he says, and I hate that I melt at that endearment.

"Am I? Let me guess. Hunter talked to you and you got sent to call me off, right?" I ask bitterly. This is such bullshit.

"You're a small town cop," he says. "If you think something is really wrong here why aren't you bringing in the experts?"

That cuts. He thinks I'm not capable? Or qualified? I watch him. No, that's not it. He's trying to misdirect me. To distract me. I'm not falling for it.

"How's your training going?" I ask. "New Year's in Panama City, right? That's not long off."

Ten days. I can't believe it's that close and that far. He gives me a look I can't decipher but he doesn't change the subject.

"Yeah. And the training is going well." Then he grins. "Are you coming?"

It's not an outrageous question. I've been before, a very long time ago, and it's obvious he remembers. I'm not sure I can stomach it anymore. I barely could then. And I'll still be wearing this badge on December thirty first. I shake my head.

"No. It would probably be best if I don't."

"It's in another state. And you're resigning, remember?" He doesn't sound happy about that. "Why didn't you tell me before Hunter?"

Ah, I get it now. He's pissed he didn't hear first. I shrug. "We were talking. It came up."

"When?" he asks but there's too much demand there and I bristle.

"Excuse me?"

"When is your last day?" he clarifies.

"January fifteenth."

What the hell am I doing? I'm answering his questions but he's not giving me shit.

"You need to let the Monroe thing go, Serenity," he says softly.

"Why?"

He shakes his head and I know he's not going to give me a reason even though he knows shit. God, it burns my ass. Why is he here? Why am I doing this? I'm breaking every single rule I've made for myself over the last decade. I am so not doing this. I stand up.

"Get out. Just go, Trace."

He looks stunned and I'm tempted to laugh but this is just not funny. And then that mask of his falls back into place and he picks up the box of pasta. Taking half of it, he drops it into the now boiling water. He turns back to me.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby. You owe me. For ten very long years."

I should be pissed or afraid. I'm not. The alpha posturing and chest thumping and insane pronouncements draw me in. What the hell is wrong me? I know he's trouble and I just keep coming back for more. I don't kick him out. I let him feed me and then I let him take me to bed. And it's incredible. I pretend there's no reason for us not to be together. I pretend everything is perfect. That we're perfect. I almost believe the lie.

#  Chapter Six

Trace

The music is pumping and I'm pulling an engine block when I hear someone calling my name. I smack my head on the hood as I back up and I rub it as I turn around. I have no idea where Walker is. He wasn't around when I went to the gym this morning or came into the garage. I didn't bother trying his cell. I figure he's working on that Lexus Serenity mentioned.

I look for the source of the voice and a man approaches. The open door is behind him so it takes a few steps before I know who I'm looking at and I grin. Dan Phillips. He comes close and we grasp hands and do that chest bump thing. Of all the people who've come traipsing through here to gawk at the ex-con murderer, he's the one I'm most happy to see.

"You look good," he says.

"Must be all the fresh air," I answer.

He laughs. "I hear it does a man good. How's it going?"

I wonder if this is a personal or business question. I like Dan, but unless things have changed, he works for Monroe.

"Things are great," I answer, wondering if there is a point to this visit.

"Yeah? You're happy just working on cars? There is other action around here, you know."

Since I've never been into selling drugs I wonder what the hell he's talking about.

"Wasn't my thing before and still isn't," I say. He's working up to something but I'm not sure what. "Just spit it out."

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm going out on my own. I can make a clean break from Tim but the support of Hunter's guys definitely wouldn't hurt."

There is no way any of us will throw our support behind a drug dealer and he knows this, so why is he here?

"You know that ain't gonna happen," I say.

"Not even to protect your woman?" he asks.

I go cold. I'm not sure if it's the implied threat against her or the calling her mine. That makes her a weakness and I don't want that getting around.

"What have you heard?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Nothing concrete. Tim doesn't share much," he says sarcastically and I get the impression he's talking about money as much as information. "But she's making the people he works with nervous. They like this town because it's small and doesn't get much notice. Lynn has connections that can put it on law enforcement maps, though."

Does she? It occurs to me that I don't know nearly as much about her as I should.

"Why are you really here, Dan?" I ask.

He takes a minute, just looking at me, before he answers. "I want to know if y'all are gonna make a move against Tim. If you give me enough advance warning, I can cut you in. I won't go down with him."

I have no idea how to respond to this offer. First, I really can't. I work for Hunter. This is his decision and he's always been against going into the drug trade. Second, that I'm hearing it at all scares the shit out of me for Serenity's sake. And I don't want to be afraid for her. I want to fuck her. I want to use her until I get her out of my system though I'm starting to think that will be never.

"I'll take it to Hunter," I say. "But you know he won't want to get involved in any way in this."

Dan nods. "Y'all talk. Let me know."

I stop him before he can leave. "Who's Monroe working for, Dan?"

He pauses so long I don't think he's going to answer. "Chase Beaumont."

The name is familiar but I can't remember where I've heard it. Dan leaves and it's closing time anyway so I wash up and call Hunter. No answer. I try Walker and get the same result. This shit is getting old fast. I'm not sure what to do next so I head over to the gym. I find them all in the office.

"No one can answer a damned phone?" I snap.

Hunter gives me a surprised look, like he can't believe I'm questioning his leadership. I'm not, but I'm sick and fucking tired of being in the dark so I don't modulate my tone or hold back my anger.

"Dan Phillips just came to see me," I say. "He wants to know if we're making a move against Monroe. And can he get a heads up first."

"Shit," Hunter says dragging a hand over his face. "We aren't. There's nothing to tell him."

"Okay." I already know that. "Who's Chase Beaumont?"

"Beaumont is Monroe's backer?" Hunter asks.

He sounds relieved. Hopefully this means I don't have to worry about Serenity or getting her to back off the investigation she seems so hell bent on.

"That's what Dan says. How do I know that name?"

"I did some work for his father. In Birmingham," Walker says. "They're dangerous but they won't go after a cop."

Serenity is safe then. The relief is immense. I don't ask what Walker got messed up in while he lived up north. He wouldn't have dealt but there were plenty of other options around drug dealers.

"Did he say anything else?" Hunter asks.

I start to shake my head but remember what he'd said about contacts. "He implied Serenity has powerful friends in law enforcement. That it wouldn't take much for her to get them involved down here."

"She does," Walker confirms.

The last thing any of us want is a bunch of investigators from the state down here, but I'm torn. I want her out so if they can take over I'm all for it. January fifteenth isn't soon enough. And Beaumont may not be a danger to her but Monroe sure as fuck is. I want to go find her now. Talk some sense into her if that's even possible. Hunter blows that plan.

"I need you to do a run with Ryder," he says.

I'm back in that easily? I nod but I wonder if this is a test. "No problem," I say.

A few minutes later I sit in the passenger seat of Ryder's truck. I haven't talked to him much since I've been home and I expect to get the third degree about Serenity. He doesn't let me down.

"So what's up with you and this woman?"

"Sex," I answer curtly.

He gives me a disbelieving look. "You can laid anywhere but you went after a cop. I can't decide if you're ballsy, bent, or just plain dumb."

"Probably all three," I mutter.

It hasn't escaped my notice my life is more bizarre outside of prison.

"She gonna come to the fight?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so. She's knows about though."

I rub a hand over the back of my neck. I'm tense, hungry, and confused. I don't like complicated and my life sure as hell ain't simple right now.

"I didn't tell her so she must have asked around," I continue.

"I'm not gonna ride your ass about her, man. I figure the rest of the guys have done enough of that."

Wasn't that the truth?

"We all know the best thing to do is walk away from her now." Not gonna ride my ass, huh? "But I know you won't."

I'm not sure what to say to that so I keep quiet and he goes on.

"After she leaves the department how far are you bringing her in?"

My knee jerk reaction is not at all. She may not be a cop in a few weeks but she'll still be burdened with that do-gooder conscious. Some aspects of my life I think she'll reluctantly accept--the fights for instance. Anything else? I seriously doubt it. But if we're going to be together for awhile I'm not sure how much I'll be able to keep from her.

"I'll deal with that when I have to," I say.

"Fair enough. You can't tell her about Beaumont. We do some business with him occasionally."

"Parts?" I ask.

"Yeah. And the fights."

I wasn't planning on telling her about Beaumont anyway so this is no skin off my back. A couple minutes later we turn on the road leading into River City. Ryder hasn't said but I'm assuming we're collecting late debts tonight. It's the first time I've ventured into the city since my release and I'm amazed at how much it's grown in ten years. I start to relax. Unlike Madison, it's not likely I'll be recognized with all the newcomers here.

"Did you grab dinner yet?" Ryder asks.

"No."

"Good. I'm starving."

A few minutes later we pull into a chain steak restaurant. The place is packed so we go to the bar. The bartender flirts with Ryder when we sit.

"Hey stranger. Where ya been?"

He smiles back. "Work, darlin'. Man's gotta earn a living."

"I get off at ten if you want to go out. There's a new club downtown."

"Make it eleven," he counters. Whatever we're doing after dinner apparently wasn't going to take all night.

"Sure," she says then turns and looks me over before focusing on Ryder again. "Carla's off tonight. Maybe we should introduce her to your friend. I'm Shelby by the way," she adds to me.

"Nice to meet you."

"So you're coming out with us?"

"He's taken, darlin'. I get you and Carla all to myself."

She blushes and I get the impression he's already done that. I'm not surprised. Ryder has never had to do much more than wink and snap his fingers to get any woman he wants. She takes our orders and walks away to deal with another customer.

"So we came here so you can get laid?"

He shrugs. "Two birds one stone." Then grinning, he slaps me on the shoulder. "Multitasking, brother. You should try it."

I want to know what we're doing after dinner but I can't ask here. It'll have to wait. I take a drink of the beer Shelby sets in front of me and listen to them flirt. After a few minutes they switch to mutual acquaintances and I'm surprised I recognize several names. Thankfully our food arrives before I have to contribute to the conversation.

The steak is excellent, juicy and flavorful. I can't remember the last time I've had anything this good. It's gone too soon and I'm tempted to order one to take with us but decide against it. We pay up and leave. Soon we make the first visit, collect some money, and move on. Everything goes smoothly and we head to the last stop.

We drive to a building on the edge of town and walk into a bar that's so seedy I doubt it ever had better days. There's a handful of people inside, most look like bikers and they aren't happy to see us. Easy just went out the window. I should have known and realize Ryder intentionally left this for the end of the night. Hope his dates like the battered and bloody look. Oh hell. I groan. Serenity is gonna want an explanation I can't make. I'll just tell her my sessions with Lake went a little too far.

"Which one?" I ask grimly.

Ryder jerks his chin to a back corner and leads the way. Two men are slumped across from each other in a booth.

"Oh look, he sent his killer after me," one of them says.

I squint in the dim light and study him. I know the voice but the face isn't coming back to me.

"Knock it off, Thompson," Ryder says.

Fuck. If I get out of this in one piece I'm gonna kill Ryder. He should have warned me. I recognize the guy now. Mike Thompson, Billy's little brother. The man I killed a decade ago. The years have not been kind to Mike. Or more accurately he hasn't been kind to himself. He's got a beer gut and the sallow skin of a hard partier. I'm guessing drugs as well as alcohol.

"You owe us money," Ryder says. "Time to pay up."

We've attracted the attention of everyone in the bar now. I look around, sizing them up. Most are just watching and I don't think they're gonna give us any problems. The two in front of us on the other hand... Mike stands up and charges me. Fuckin' idiot. I knock him down with one punch. Ryder gives me a dirty look and I shrug. The dumbass on the ground doesn't have the sense to stay there, though. He climbs to his feet.

"You'll pay for that."

I sigh. Great. With my luck he'll press charges and I'll end up spending the night in jail even though it was self defense. I haven't had much luck with that explanation in the past. Thankfully, Mike is pretty wasted.

"Just pay up and we'll be gone," I all but growl.

The dumbass gets in my face. I have this thing about personal space. As in don't get in mine. He moves another inch closer and I punch him in the gut. I don't hold back either and my knuckles ache when they connect to his belt buckle. Right now I really don't give a shit. I'm getting pissed. With a grunt, Mike makes his first smart move and sits back down.

"The money," Ryder reminds him.

"I don't got it," he mumbles.

I sigh and move to grab his shirt and haul him up but Ryder shakes his head. He leans down and whispers in Mike's ear. Whatever he says makes the man turn pale. He nods shakily.

"Sure man, whatever."

"Three days. Don't forget," Ryder warns him.

Back in the truck I let go of my temper. "What the fuck was that, man? You should have warned me about that before we went in there."

He doesn't answer. If I've passed his test I don't know. "What did you whisper to him?"

Ryder grins. "He wants to clear the books so we have a little job for him. That's why Hunter let him get in so deep."

The day before Christmas Eve. I wonder what they have planned. "Am I going to be busy that day?"

"Worried about your girlfriend?" he asks.

I glare but I'm getting used to people describing Serenity that way. I kind of like it.

"You should be home by breakfast," he says. "Job starts at midnight."

I don't ask any more. Yet. I'm pretty sure we're stealing something. Probably a couple cars. I flex my fist and it smarts. In the low light of the interior of the cab I can see it's bleeding. I'll have to clean up before I go to Serenity's. We aren't too far from the gym and in a few minutes I'm back in my car. But instead of going home I drive to her place. The front light is on and the door is locked. It's easy to pick and I hope she doesn't shoot me when I walk inside. She doesn't even look up. She's sitting cross legged on the couch, her computer in her lap. Her hair is pulled up in that damned pony tail again and she's wearing a slinky little nightgown I haven't seen before. It's dark red and hugs her in all the right places leaving her legs mostly bare.

"You need to stop breaking into my house," she says. Testy tonight, is she?

"You need better locks."

I can't believe I haven't thought of that before but until tonight I've been with her since she got home from work. I don't worry about anyone getting through me, but what if Monroe gets desperate and sends someone after her? There's a man missing already and he's most likely dead. I'll replace the locks tomorrow that way I'll be sure I have a key. She finally looks at me, scrutinizing me from head to toe. She sets the laptop aside and stands.

"You're bleeding."

I look down at my fist. "It's nothing."

I walk through the house to her bathroom. I'm running cold water over my knuckles when she walks in.

"Do I want to know?"

I have a lie all figured out, but I don't use it. Things are tense enough between us. There's already so much I can't say. Lying to her would make it worse. It just feels wrong. So I shake my head and I swear to God I see tears in her eyes. Christ. I'm such an ass. I can't have this woman, not really, but I can't let her go either. I pull her into my arms, brushing a hand over her hair to pull out the rubber band.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whisper.

I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for. Everything. Nothing. And I mean every word. She lets me hold her a minute before she pulls away. Her eyes are dry but they're haunted and I'm afraid in the end I'm going to destroy us both. If I was a better man I'd leave and never come back. I don't deserve her, but I want her all to myself. I see her like no one else does. I see her naked and vulnerable and I'm not talking about skin. She can't hide from me like she does from other people.

She picks my hand up and examines my knuckles. There are cuts on two but they aren't a big deal.

"You should put some antibiotic cream on these and cover them. You don't have time to deal with an infection, even a minor one."

She sounds worried and I put a finger under her chin, lift it to look in her eyes. She's back in control. No sign of the earlier chink in her armor.

"Will it always be this way, Trace? The secrets?"

I wince at the subtle accusation in her voice and that pisses me off. This situation is not entirely my fault. I'm not the one who'd got a wild hair and decided to become a cop. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that part of her life is ending soon. I don't know if I can give her what she wants though.

"I don't know," I tell her. "I guess that depends on what you can learn to live with."

I can see that makes her as uncomfortable as it does me. The hell with this. I'm sticking to what I know I can do right. I pull her back into my arms and she leans into my kiss with a sigh. That's more like it. I run my hands down her sides of the smooth fabric of her gown and lean back for a better look.

"What are you wearing?"

She looks embarrassed. "It's just a night gown."

No it isn't. It dips low in the bodice, hugs her body, and barely falls to the top of her thighs. I wonder if she's wearing anything under it. God, I hope not.

"I like it," I murmur before I grab the hem and slowly pull it up.

She holds her arms over her head so I can take it off and toss it aside. She's wearing a matching thong and I decide to leave it on for a minute. Her nipples are hard tempting points that I have to taste before I lose my mind. I set my hands on her hips and lift her so she can wrap her legs around my hips and hook her heels over my ass. She's at just the right height for me to lean down suck her nipple. I want to take my time, but she makes that noise again and I know this is going to be fast and hard and very satisfying.

"Trace," she whispers. "More."

She wraps one arm around my neck and the other around my head, holding me close. I know what she wants and I bite her gently before switching to the other breast. She groans. Then begs. It's fucking music.

"Are you wet for me, baby?"

"Yes," she pants. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

I pull her legs loose and see the anticipation in her eyes. I can't get out of my jeans fast enough and by the time I roll on the condom she's removed her underwear and stepped towards the bed. But I don't wait that long. I pick her up and her eyes widen as I thrust into her. She's hot and slick and tight around me. I go to the nearest hard surface, the bedroom door, and push her back against it. Her legs are around my waist, her hands gripping my shoulders, and I look down between us at where we're connected. I want to feel her coming, watch her face when she does and I grin.

"Touch yourself, Serenity. Get off for me."

She whimpers and slowly moves one hand. Stroking down my chest to where I'm shuttling in and out of her sweet pussy. Her fingers graze my cock and I fight down the desire to fuck her hard and fast. I'm going to drag this out as long as I can for both of us. This is the best part of our fucked up relationship and I won't screw it up.

She finds her clit and brushes a finger over it. Slowly at first then moving into a faster, demanding rhythm. She watches me the whole time and I'm struck by how damned beautiful she is. Her skin is flushed. Her eyes hazy with lust. And when she comes, she drops her head back and cries out my name. Her pussy squeezes my cock and it's even better than the last time. I can't hold back any longer and claim her mouth as I pound into her, fucking her harder. She's still working her clit and she comes just after my orgasm over takes me. It's so damned good I don't know the words to describe it. Better than any dream I had during the years apart and that scares me. One day soon she's going to wake up and come to her senses. Then where will I be?

I don't want to think about that tonight so I carry her to the bed and slowly pull out of her. Sensation shoots through me when her pussy flutters. I groan and lay her down. It's chilly in the room so I drag the blanket over her though I hate to hide her gorgeous body. I dispose of the condom and join her, pulling her into my arms. She's a perfect fit and when she snuggles closer she rubs her ass against my cock. I'm primed and ready for round two in an instant but she's dead to the world. I resign myself to an uncomfortable night and hope for sleep.

#  Chapter Seven

Trace

The longer I walk around free, the more I consider possible futures, and Serenity always takes center stage. Revenge against the woman has been a driving force in my life for so long I've failed to look beyond it. She's under my skin, and I don't know how to get her out. I'm not sure if I want to, but she's been my focus for so long now that I've tasted her, I can't see beyond her. Maybe I've never seen beyond her.

I'm distracted from my thoughts when a car turns in the drive and honks its horn. Walker must be back. Leaning under the hood of my old Camaro, I have an unobstructed view of the front door and nod when he walks into the garage. I glance at the clock over the office door and curse. Serenity has some Christmas country club thing she has to go to that disreputable Trace Graham isn't welcome at, but I'm hoping for a quickie before she leaves.

Rushing, I pick up my tools, lock up the car and jog to the house to catch a quick shower. Ten minutes later I walk in her kitchen door. I slow down only long enough to grab one of the beers I'd left in her fridge, then stride into her bedroom and look around.

A long red dress hangs on the back of the closet door and perfume scents the air. I approach the open bathroom door and lean against the frame, crossing my arms over my chest. She's leaning over the counter applying makeup to her eyelashes with a wand, wearing a red lace bra and panties with thigh high stockings. My cock throbs at the picture she makes and it takes all my restraint to keep from tossing her on the bed. She's already late.

I twist the top off the beer bottle and toss it into a nearby wastebasket. Taking a long draw, I watch her screw the wand back into its tube and reach for some lipstick. It is a bright shade of red--hell if I know which one--but when she turns to me, I'm sure of its effect on me. With her hair knotted intricately on her head and her face made up, she is sexy as hell. And she has not gone to all this trouble for me.

"Hey," she finally speaks to me.

"Hey."

I don't reach for her or move out of her way, wishing that just once she'd greet me like she wants me around. She keeps our relationship on a purely sexual level. But that's what I want, right?

"I'm really late, Trace. I need to get dressed."

I step back from the doorway and watch her drop the dress over her head and shimmy it down her hips and thighs. A zipper hangs open down the back and stepping into high heels, she looks at me over her shoulder.

"Can you zip me up?"

"Sure."

Drawing her near, I blow a soft breath on the nape of her neck and she shivers in response. That's more like it. After dragging up the zipper, I step back and she turns around, smoothing the front of the dress down with one hand. She meets my gaze and I get my first good look at her all put together. Beautiful. I reach for her, the hell with her being late, just as the front doorbell chimes.

Stepping back, she crosses her arms low across her waist. Her expression closes up and the silence between us stretches. The door rings again. No one has ever accused me of being stupid. She has a date. I turn and stalk toward the front door, but she catches up to me before I can open it.

"This was set up weeks ago," she says. "I couldn't cancel it."

She waves her hand in the air between us. "This thing with us...I don't know what this is. But I had a life before you showed up and I'll have one when you leave."

"Who says I'm leaving?" I grip the back of her neck and haul her close. Leaning over I say softly, "You're mine."

The doorbell rings a third time and without releasing her, I yank it open--and in waltzes Tim Monroe. He arches an eyebrow at the scene in the entryway, and an icy rage moves through me. My hands fist. I want to wipe the smirk off Monroe's face. Serenity breaks free of me and sets a hand over my heart, her eyes demanding silence.

She turns to her date and smiles. "Give us a minute, Tim, please."

Dragging me down the hall, she pulls me into the bedroom and shuts the door behind us. Then she rounds on me, her eyes shooting sparks as she pokes her finger in my chest. If I wasn't so angry, I would laugh at her attempt to push me around. It's kind of cute. Instead, I take a step back and set my hands on my hips.

"You could have canceled this," I say coldly.

Her eyes narrow. "Maybe I didn't want to. Maybe I have reasons that have nothing to do with you."

My gut twists. I've already figured out she's dating Monroe to investigate him. I should have talked to her about this before but since we're together I figured she'd drop the dating pretense. It fucking pisses me off that she hasn't. Monroe was the worst of the worst in a bad crowd years ago, but he's ten times past that now. His family money and name protected him from getting busted when he was a kid and it looks like he's led a charmed life since then, straightening up and turning his family's failing business around. But I know better. Someone that bent doesn't go clean. That's already been confirmed but I can't tell her that.

"You can't go, Serenity," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "I don't have time for this. I'll see you later."

"Not good enough, Serenity." I shake her shoulders. "Monroe may look pretty, but he's dangerous."

Stiffening, she breaks free and moves away. "Believe it or not, I know that."

I know she does and that just pisses me off more. Monroe calls out from the other room. "Um, Lynn? I hate to rush you, but we're late."

She shudders. "He gives me the creeps. We can talk later. If you're still around."

"Oh, I'll be here." I take my time looking over her over. I still want that quickie and something not so fast.

She yanks the door open and stalks into the living room where Monroe waits. Hands in his pockets, he stands beside the door as if he has all the time in the world. I want to smash his face in, but maybe a demonstration will be more effective. Without saying a word, I pick up Serenity's coat off the couch and help her shrug into it. Then I step around her and button it up.

She fidgets in the silence and when the task is complete, I take her face in the palms of my hands and kiss her. It's a slow deep kiss and I pour all my conflicting emotions into it--my possessiveness, anger and desire. It only lasts a moment, but it leaves us both breathless and when I look up and met Monroe's gaze, I know my message has been delivered. My woman. Back off.

"I'll be here when you get back," I say just loudly enough to be sure Monroe hears. "Call if you need anything."

Looking dazed, she nods and follows Monroe out the door. Jaw clenched, I watch from the open doorway until the car's taillights disappear down the road. Then I step outside and swing the door shut. I need to do something, need to clear my head. My walk to the garage is quick and I find Walker under the hood of an old Chevy. I make enough noise that he hears me coming and peeks out.

"Almost done here," he says.

"Take your time," I answer. "I'll go grab us a drink."

I jog over to the house. I'd left my full beer on Serenity's dresser so I grab two new ones and return to the garage. Walker closes the car's hood and washes his hands in the office sink. When he comes back out, he takes the beer I offer him and twists off the top. Leaning against a worktop, he looks me up and down.

"All right. What gives, man? You look like you're trying really hard not to look pissed."

I shrug. "Serenity's out on a date. Well, not a real date. She's with Monroe."

I force my grip on the bottle to loosen, roll my shoulders and watch Walker tense up. He's worried about her too and there's a conversation, a question I've been avoiding. I'm pissed off enough right to go for it.

"You watched her while I was gone," I say as casually as I can manage.

Walker sets down his beer and starts putting away his tools.

"I kept up with what she was doing." He shrugs. "We both lived in Birmingham years ago when she first joined the police department and I was on a fast track to nowhere. We got to be good friends, odd as that seems."

"How good?" I ask asked softly. Have you fucked her? I can't bring myself to ask.

I meet Walker's gaze and see longing there. Turning and gripping the workbench, I close my eyes, surprised at the quick shaft of pain. Serenity had been with my brother? Anger and confusion war within me. My jaw clenches and I straighten, fighting the urge to pound on Walker. I won't let a woman come between us, but I'm damned if I'll share her.

"How good was that friendship?" I ask again. I have to know. Jealousy eats at me.

Walker snorts. "Why don't you just ask me what you really want to know?"

My eyes narrow. "Okay. Have you fucked her?"

"Jesus. I can't believe you'd think that." He rubs a hand over his head. "No. I haven't. I wouldn't. She's not mine. Never was. There was someone else for me. As fucked up as you two being together," he says with a snort.

The relief inside me is so strong I can only nod in response. Walker takes a long drink of his beer and continues.

"I moved up there after your trial." He grunts. "At first I told myself it was because I had to get away from here, ya know? But I think really it was because I wanted to make her as miserable as she had us."

He pauses a long moment, staring into the past. "She was pretty miserable without my help. She was about the last person I expected to go to the police academy. The trial changed us all, I guess. Anyway, she grows on you."

He meets my gaze again before continuing. It's as if now that we're talking about it, he wants to get it all out.

"I stayed and watched her for a couple of years. First because I hated her, and later because I knew, even if you didn't, that you loved her. When I was sure she was going to be okay, I came home. She's good at what she does, and this town never stopped talking about her. Or that night. It was easy enough to keep up with what she was doing."

I don't hear anything past you loved her. Did I? Then or now? I thought I'd strangled the life out of whatever I felt for her when she dropped off the face of the earth. Now I want to keep it strictly about sex, want to make her need me and then cut her out of my life the way she'd done me. Except our relationship is already complicated as hell. I don't think I'm going to be able to let her go, but I'm an ex-con and she's a cop. Well, not for much longer thank God. I shake myself free from that train of thought and turn my attention to something I'm better prepared to deal with. Anything at all will do.

"Who was it? The woman you wanted?"

Walker stares at me a long time and I don't think he's gonna answer but he finally answers. "Grace Monroe. Honor's sister."

"What went wrong?"

He shrugs. "She joined the Army. Got married. Last I heard she's a private investigator in Atlanta."

He makes it sound like it wasn't much and is no big deal but I see that longing back in his eyes and I get it now.

"Not like you to give up," I say.

He gives me a steady look. "Let it go, man. It was a long time ago."

He hasn't let it go though and who the fuck am I am to cast stones? I never let Serenity go and now she's out with someone else. I turn to leave.

"Wait. Where are you going?" Walker asks.

I don't really know. I can't just walk into the country club to retrieve my woman. They'd never let me in. The place is surrounded by woods, though. I can get close enough to see her, at least.

"To make sure she's okay. Don't worry, no one will see me."

"Shit. At least take your phone."

"I left it at her house."

I don't want to take the time to go back for it. Walker hands me his cell phone and I tuck it in my pocket. I'm walking out the door when I hear Walker call out behind me, "Watch your back!"

I laugh.

"Always do, brother," I whisper. "I always do."

Parking the car in a wooded area off the country club's maintenance road, I grab a jacket from the backseat, get out and look around. The club has left it undeveloped, probably in an attempt at privacy, but the roadside is littered with beer cans and cigarette butts. Still used the same by the locals.

I thread my way through half a mile of dead undergrowth and tall pines to stand in the wood line and observe the back of the brightly lit ballroom. It's in the club's main building, an old mansion built to look like Tara in Gone with the Wind. It's been remodeled so many times over the years that only the front still resembles the mythical Southern house. The back wall is all glass--with French doors and six-foot windows. The work on them had just started when I went to prison.

White and red Christmas lights frame the doors and a tall tree stands in the middle of the patio. I can see several smaller trees inside. Despite the lighting, there are deep shadows outside the windows. I pick my way through the gloom until I find a spot close enough to see inside.

A band plays on a stand at the far end, and the dance floor is packed with couples moving softly to a slow beat. Others lounge at circular tables around the edge. I search the crowd for Serenity, and am surprised at the changes to many familiar faces. I've avoided going into town until yesterday, so the only people I've seen since returning are at the gym or have sought me out. Here is the cream of Madison and many of them have not aged well. I get a certain gloating thrill from that. I may have been in prison, but I've at least taken care of myself.

I finally spot Serenity in the middle of floor. She takes my breath away. She is a woman who's definitely taken care of herself. My woman. Smiling up at Monroe. Before all is said and done, I'll punch that smug son of bitch. My eyes narrow. I have just cause. Each time Monroe tries to pull Serenity closer and she takes a subtle step away, I add another infraction to a growing list. It will be much more satisfying to deal with Monroe's transgressions than my anger at Serenity. She is another matter.

I thought that whatever possessive or jealous instincts I have were beat out of me over the last ten years, but I'm wrong. It's one thing to consider her mine, which I do--so sue me. But the fine rage that thrums through me whenever anyone else dares touch her is dangerous. I know what I am, and what I'm capable of doing. And still I stand and watch, letting it build within me.

She'll have to pay for testing my patience like this. The question is how. Because this depth of feeling goes way beyond lust, beyond want. Standing there in the shadows, I realize I'm never going to get her out of my system. My brother is right--I love her. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. Ten years. I'd thought I was waiting for revenge, but I've really been waiting for her. It pisses me off that I've chosen to love a woman who is so wrong for me, and worse, she doesn't love me back. Too damned bad. I stare out into the night. I'm not letting her go.

I straighten and turn back to the doors, all the while indulging in a brief fantasy of going in and dragging her out. I might have done it an hour ago, but now I have too much to consider. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't want to trash her reputation. Plus, I know she is with Monroe trying to get dirt on him. I understand, but I wish she'd turn the case over to someone else and ride out her last few weeks. But she's a cop, and apparently a good one. The litany replays itself over and over inside my head. Whether I'm trying to convince myself she's safe or that good cops really exist, I'm not sure.

While I'm thinking about our future, the dance breaks up and Serenity moves to a set of doors a few feet from where I stand. She turns and stares out wistfully into the night, and she jumps a little when Monroe comes up behind her holding a cup in one hand. She must have seen his other hand reaching for her ass in the glass' reflection, because with a deft movement, she steps sideways and takes the drink. I smile. That's my girl.

The move positions her so she has a clear view of both of Monroe's hands, and I get a good look at her face. She hides it well, but her eyes are tight with anger. I waffle between going in after her and letting her handle it, when she takes the choice away from me. She stops a passing waiter, hands him her glass and opens the door. I hear her speak to Tim.

"It's fine really. I just need to clear my head a minute--it's hot in here--and you said you want to catch the mayor before he leaves. I'll only be a second."

She steps through the door and closes it behind her with a firm tug. Then she wanders over to look at the Christmas tree in the middle of the patio. She circles it, and I meet her on the backside of it, pulling her against me and kissing her hard before she can say anything. She struggles a moment before grabbing the edges of my coat and pulling me closer. I soften the bruising kiss. When I finally loosen my hold on her, she doesn't pull away but leans back to look up at me. She arches an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on what's mine. Monroe needs to keep his hands to himself. You'd better remind him of that, detective."

Serenity

It's more a growl than a statement. His eyes flash at me, and his face is sharply profiled in the white and red glow of the Christmas lights. He obviously means what he says and since I agree with him--that touchy feely crap gives me a major case of the squicks--I nod in agreement. Not that I'm going to let him push me around either. No way. But I understand where he's coming from. Maybe. Could be I don't have a clue. One minute I think we have something real and the next I think it's just sex. I have to figure this out.

"He is pretty creepy," I say.

"Then why don't you drop this before you get hurt?" he demands. "You're quitting in a few weeks. Let someone else deal with Monroe."

I bite my lip and wonder how to answer him. I don't think he'll understand. "Justice," I say. "He killed a man in cold blood. You and I both know that. And his drugs are slowly killing God only knows how many other people. This is my last case. I have to see it to the end."

I can see he doesn't understand.

"I thought you didn't like this work? That you'd decided it's not for you."

"After you went away, I...floundered. That was a serious miscarriage of justice. You should never have gone to prison. I thought maybe I could make a difference from inside the system. I'm good at the work, but...it's not a drive in me the way it should be and sometimes I hate it. I hate constantly seeing the worst in people. People like Tim Monroe."

He stares at me a long time and I can't read him. I have no idea what he's thinking.

"How much longer are you going to be here?" he asks.

"I'm not getting any information out of him, so I'll be going home soon. I think I've done my family duty tonight."

I'd come to the party mainly because Mom expected me to, and she would understand my wanting to cut out early. Since Honor isn't here tonight, Mom is the only one in the room who agrees with me on Tim's creep status. She also knows something is up with me and has subtly questioned me all night. Certain it has something to do with a man other than Monroe, she seems determined to get answers.

I stifle a groan. There is no telling how Joanne will react once she finds out Trace is back...and that I'm sleeping with him. Since my father died and is no longer around to control our lives or behavior, no longer around to terrorize the women he was supposed to cherish, my mom has gone the eccentric Southern lady route. But even she has limits.

Out of view on the other side of the tree, the door creaks opened.

"Lynn?" Tim calls out. I hear his steps on the flagstone and jerk away from Trace.

"Go," I mouth to him. I turn and walk around the tree.

"I'm here." I walk past him to the door and reach for the knob before he can get it. "I was just getting a good view of the tree. Nice job this year, huh?"

I plaster a fake smile on my face and look up at him. He's looking at the grounds and his brow creases in puzzlement.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to remain nonchalant.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Thought I saw someone, but it must have been a shadow."

Or Trace Graham. But he doesn't need to know that. I have an overwhelming urge to leave the party immediately, knowing he'll be waiting for me at home. I suspect Monroe isn't safe as long as I'm with him, and I'd hate like hell to have to send Trace back to prison for beating him up...or worse.

I smother a yawn. It's been a long day and Christmas is only a few days away. I dragged my tree and ornaments out of storage earlier in the day in hopes I'd get it up tonight, but I really just want to fall into bed. I'll do it tomorrow, when I'm off and can take care of that and my shopping, along with my mother's twenty questions.

Monroe is silent beside me as we walk through the ballroom. I'm looking for my mother, and he's what? Following me? In the back of the room, I see Mom deep in conversation with Mrs. Baker and suppress a groan. Not tonight. Please. I stop and look up at Tim.

"I'm beat. I need to say good-bye to my mother, and then if you're ready, I'd like to head home. I can call someone to come get me if you aren't."

He grins and looks past me. "One more dance, and then maybe your mom will be free."

I force a laugh. "Okay. One more, and then really, I need to go."

He talks about work and I lead the conversation around to Magee.

"Heard from Magee again?" I ask.

"No," he answers, sounding concerned but I hear the insincerity. "I hope nothing happened to him. Mexico can be a dangerous place."

"Hmm," I reply. A non-comment. "I'd like to talk to the guys he worked with again."

"Sure. We're working a half-day on Christmas Eve at headquarters, and will be having a lunch around eleven. Why don't you stop by?"

"I think I will. Thanks."

The dance ends and I can't pull away from him fast enough. I sigh when I see my mother still in deep conversation with Mrs. Baker.

"Let's just go," he says.

"No, I can't. I'll make it quick, I promise."

It takes twenty minutes for me to extricate myself from the combined clutches of Joanne and Mrs. Baker. Tim, the rat, makes himself scarce during our exchange. I try to hurry it along, imagining Trace sitting alone at my house with his a slow burning fuse, but it's a waste of time. When I finally settle myself into Monroe's car, I'm ready to scream. Thank God it's a short drive home. I jump out of the vehicle before Monroe even has it in park. I lean in the door as he reaches for the ignition key.

"Oh, don't get out. I can see myself in." I smile. "It was a fun night. I'll see you in a couple of days, okay?"

He laughs.

"Trace doesn't want me around, huh? So I guess you've made your decision. You know, you can't keep your relationship with him a secret for very long, Lynn." He sounds sympathetic, but I don't buy it. I just shrug in response and he sighs. "Okay, okay. I'll butt out. Just be careful."

I force a smile. "I always am."

I slam the door, turn, and walk up to the house. Monroe waits while the door opens. Trace steps out and leans against the frame, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The car idles at the curb behind me and I wonder how far the pissing match might end up going. I so don't need this crap. Trace slings an arm around my neck when I reach him and we walk inside the house together. Peeking out the door as it slams, I see Monroe drive off down the street.

Glad to be home, I kick off my shoes and reach for the pins holding up my hair. It tumbles down my back and I massage my scalp as I walk to the bedroom. Trace follows. I sense him, but he does it without making a sound. Stopping near the bed, I gather my hair to one side.

"Can you get this zipper?"

It slides down, the noise loud in the tomblike silence of the room. I let the dress fall forward to pool around my waist and instead of pushing it down over my hips, I reach behind me for the snap to my bra and take it off with a sigh of relief. Rolling my neck, I wonder what the night has in store for me. I'm ready to crash, but as usual my body strums with awareness of Trace standing nearby, watching me. I don't know how I've lived ten years without him. Addicted, that's what I am--and it isn't a good thing.

I push the dress down and sit on the edge of the bed to roll off my stockings. He leans against the wall, his gaze like a hot caress. Last, I remove my thong and crawl under the covers. Sleep and lust both tug at me and right now, sleep is winning. My eyelids droop and I curl onto my side to admire him as he undresses. His shirt comes off to reveal defined pecs and a ridged abdomen. Dropping the garment to the floor, he reaches for the snap on his jeans. I hold my breath when they slide down over his narrow hips. He is beautiful, all lean sculpted muscle. He lies down facing me and holds my gaze a long moment before speaking.

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

It is the last thing I expect to hear from him, and it raises my guard. Do I trust him? I am beginning to think I can't live without him, but that can hardly be counted as trust. Years ago I was sure I loved him, and where had it gotten me? I know he would never physically hurt me, and he might even protect me if necessary.

Yet I know he isn't asking for that kind of trust. Do I dare trust him with my heart? With my soul? Can he be trusted not to shove me out of his life again on a whim? Never mind if it is wise to find myself in this situation a second time. The answer to that question is obvious. I can't say the same for the one about trust.

I shouldn't take this step. I should say no and let the moment pass, but something hovers in his eyes. Something that looks like hurt and insecurity and longing. Something I can't deny. We are so wrong for each other. Maybe what I see in his eyes is only wishful thinking on my part. If I allow myself to trust him, it will probably be the biggest mistake of my life. Still, I nod.

"Yes."

He expels a sigh. "Say it. Say you trust me."

"I trust you, Trace." My arms circle his neck and I press my body to his.

"I need to know that you are...completely mine. I want to do something."

"What?" I arch my eyebrows.

Where is this going? He leans over the side of the bed and picks up my handcuffs, dangling them over me from one finger. A combination of unease and interest moves through me. I am certain he doesn't want me handcuffing him, and I don't want to do that either. My last memory was of him cuffed. But to let him handcuff me? He leans over me.

"It's a matter of trust," he whispers in my ear.

The soft drawl of his voice sends shivers up my spine, and I ponder the idea. I'm turned on, no doubt about it. But it does come down to trust. I make a split second decision.

"Okay."

A slow smile spreads across his face. He leans over and nibbles my bottom lip.

"You have an interesting collection in this drawer over here."

Uh oh. He's found my toys. Between them, the handcuffs and the lascivious look in his eyes, I know I'm in for a long night. Before I can think of a way to postpone it, he clicks the metal circles on my wrists. They are loose enough not to pinch and don't tighten when I wiggle. I blink. These aren't mine. He's found a novelty set.

He rolls on top of me, stretches my hands above my head, and secures them to the bed. I crane my neck backwards and see he's tied two scarves together, which are probably secured to the platform's feet, and he's used one in the center to go around the cuffs. I grin.

"Awfully cocky aren't you? How did you know I'd say yes?"

Sitting back on his heels, he admires his handiwork and shrugs. "I didn't. I counted on our chemistry."

"Ahh," I answer, not sure what to make of that reply.

He doesn't give me a chance to think about it. He leans close and his lips and teeth close over my nipple in a semi-hard bite. The restraints have more than enough give in them for me to arch into his mouth, and he breaks away with a warning look.

"I can make it tighter."

I press my lips together to keep from making a smart-ass remark along the lines of go for it. I nod okay instead. He lays down again, presses into my side and holds my gaze while his hand travels down my body. I force my limbs to be still, until his fingers nudge my thighs wide and he spreads my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and gasp when he grazes my clit and dips into my pussy. He gathers the moistness there and circles my clitoris, lightly, teasing me by avoiding the touch that will make me come.

His lips again close over one stiff nipple and I groan when he sucks it, hard. He shifts, his hand leaving my pussy for a moment, and then I feel something nudge past my inner folds. The vibrator buzzes through the room when he switches it on, and I jerk as the shock of sensation sends me swirling into an orgasm. When I settle back to earth, I look at him from beneath droopy eyelids. He's tracing patterns across my belly, his face tense and predatory. From self-control?

"How do you do that to me?" I murmur dreamily, my eyes sliding shut. "No one else has ever been able to get me off like that."

He stills and my eyes snap open. Brilliant. I should think before I open my big mouth. He holds my gaze and the path his fingers trail finally register. He's writing. Mine. Over and over again. I hold my breath and wait for him to respond to my stupid slip. He's been in prison and I've tried to...what? Replace him? The things he can do to my body, at least. It didn't take long before I gave up on finding another man like him, and frustrated with my search, I discovered sex toys. They don't demand emotional entanglement.

"Maybe no one else was able to satisfy you because you were meant for me," he answers.

His voice is hard, but quiet, almost solemn and a frisson of unease travels up my spine. Dipping a hand between my thighs, he removes the now silent vibrator from my body and lets his fingers skim my clit. Against my will, my body arches into his hand and he smiles, pinching the hard nub a little too hard. Releasing me, he leans forward in slow motion and his lips graze mine. He stares into my eyes and starts a light rub across my clitoris. My breath quickens and my body jumps in response to his touch.

"You're mine," he whispers. "My Serenity."

Is he using my name, or saying I give him peace? He slides down my body, nipping and licking and kissing my inflamed skin as he goes, and I can't hang on to the thought. Hell, when his mouth closes over my clit, I forget my own name. Who can think of anything but pure feeling with him sucking me?

#  Chapter Eight

Trace

I spread her thighs wide, leaving her open for my exploration. Stopping long enough to grab a pillow I've left waiting at the end of the bed, I lift her hips and slide it under her butt. I pause a moment to admire her position, then reach to the floor for the other things I've left there--a round clitoral vibrator, a condom, and a tube of lubricant. Enough fantasy. It's about time for action.

She is riding so high it will be easy to keep her coming all night. I intend to keep her like that so she won't protest when I ask to fuck her ass. That will be the ultimate show of trust, won't it?

Moving back into position between her thighs, I rest on my elbows and inhale her scent. Musky and sweet, it makes me wild for release, but that will have to wait. I push my tongue into her cunt, fucking her with it while I flick her clit with one finger. I drive her to another orgasm and then another, demanding she give me everything. Shaking in the aftermath, she lays limp on the bed, smiling up at the ceiling. I decide it's time. I push the small vibrating ball inside her pussy and turn it to low. She half groans, half chuckles.

"I don't think I can take anymore," she says looking down the length of her body at me. Her eyebrows arch at the tube of lubricant in my hand. I drop a few beads on the tip of one finger and press it into her ass, up to one knuckle, and then two, until it is buried inside her as far as I can reach.

"Maybe one more time," she gasps when I slide a second finger into her and slowly begin to fuck her, loosening her resistant muscles. I can feel her body tensing to come again and I stop. I rip open the foil condom pouch with shaking fingers, roll it on and pick up the lube. I coat her puckered hole again and then the head of my cock, and move into position. My hands catch the sides of her face and I meet her gaze.

"Are you ready?" I ask.

She stares at me before nodding.

"Yes," she whispers.

I kiss her hard and fast, and then edge into her tight opening. Ah Christ. I won't survive it and I'm only in a little bit. Pushing in another couple of inches, she tenses, resisting me. I reach up and pop the release on the cuffs and her hands fly down to grip my shoulders.

"I trust you, Trace, okay? But I don't think this is going to work," she pants.

"Shh, baby, you have to relax. It'll work. We'll go slow."

I fight the urge to just plunge into her. I don't want to hurt her. Hell no. Then she won't let me do this again. And I have to do it again. I reach for the vibe control and kick up the speed. It rests against her G spot and she softens in response to the additional stimulation. My cock slides in a little farther. Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten. Almost there, but she needs a little more. Finding her clit with one hand, I rub in hard fast circles. Now her pants are from desire and she is making the soft moaning sounds that tell me she's close. She rolls her head back and forth on the pillow and grinds her mound against my hands. The movement forces my cock another inch up her ass and she groans and repeats the movement.

I release a pent up sigh--finally--and in a long slow move drive myself to the hilt inside her. She tenses up again, and I grit my teeth at the sensation of her clamping around me.

"Relax, Serenity," I order. "Or I'll come right now without you."

I hold her gaze as she struggles to comply. When she lets go, I thrust in and out of her in short, slow strokes. I'm not going to last.

"Now. Come now, Serenity," I grunt.

My balls tighten and the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced rips through me. She cries out my name and trembles beneath me. When I withdraw minutes later, she moans a protest, closes her eyes and curls onto her side. Pausing a moment to trace a line down her waist to her thigh, I stand beside the bed and study her before turning for the bathroom.

After disposing of the used condom and washing my hands, I grip the sides of the sink and stare hard at my reflection. I haven't let myself feel anything for so long, it is hard to identify the emotions racing through me now. Relief. She's given herself to me completely. The trust I need from her. Want for her has always burned in my blood, and that is easy enough to name. But the hope...my chin drops to my chest and I take a deep breath. Hope is dangerous.

Straightening away from the sink, I hit the light switch and walk back into the bedroom. Her breathing is deep and easy, and I know she is already asleep. I crawl into bed beside her and tug the quilt over both of us. Arms crossed under my head, I stare up unseeing at the ceiling. We have to talk. Soon. The years I didn't hear from her weigh on me and I want an explanation. And then there is the future to consider. She rolls over, rests her head on my shoulder, and throws one leg across mine. My arms come down around her, holding her tight, and I close my eyes. Tomorrow. I'll bring it up tomorrow.

#  Chapter Nine

Serenity

I wake the next morning to the sound of Christmas music and the smell of fresh coffee. After taking a fast, hot shower, I drag myself to the kitchen and pour a cup liberally dosing it with sugar and milk. A few sips later, my brain starts to wake up and I hear voices from the front room. Then I spot a box of Krispy Kreme donuts on the table. Either Trace has already been out this morning, or the mysterious visitor brought them. I pick out a chocolate glazed and walk toward the living room. Once I reach my bedroom door, alarm quickens my pace. That isn't just any voice. I should've known my mother would take matters into her own hands. This is bad.

She laughs at something Trace murmurs, and I freeze when I step into the room. They are a study in contrasts. Mom is petite and perfectly made up as usual, in designer slacks and a sweater, and Trace is tall, broad, and rough looking, his tattoos just visible under the sleeves of his short sleeved shirt. She's a sweet Southern belle and he's a criminal. I've been thinking about making this relationship real, making it long term, but I haven't really thought about how to explain it to my family, especially my mom. How do I do that? Hey Mom, I want you to meet Trace Graham. Remember him? Well he's back and definitely not reformed and by the way I'm having the best sex of my life with him. Okay, I'll skip the last bit.

I can only see his profile, but Trace looks relaxed and at ease like a man who enjoys a good relationship with his girlfriend's mother. Joanne must approve. She certainly won't hesitate to protest if she doesn't. It's surreal. I hope it doesn't break her heart when I explain things to her later. I walk into the room, take a bite of my donut and sit down on my creaky couch. At the noise, they both look at me. Mom smiles and arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow while Trace settles his hands on his hips and looks me up and down.

"Well, she certainly looks better than she did last night," Joanne says to Trace.

He nods. "She does."

"Hmm," I answer. "Maybe because my alarm clock seems to have disappeared."

He grins. "I've decided the best thing about being out of Holman is the fact that I don't have to live on anyone else's schedule."

"That's the best thing?" I ask with a hint of outrage.

Then I blush. Oh God, I need to rip out my tongue. I'd said that in front of my mother. What is Trace doing to me? Mom just laughs and turns back to the tree. Trace has put up the artificial tree (I can't imagine Mom doing it) and draped it in multi-colored lights, and they stand in front of it arguing over what ornament should go where.

"I was just telling Trace how you agonized over finding him the perfect gift that first Christmas he was gone. We must have gone into every store in Birmingham."

I tremble and grip my mug, and finally dredge up the courage to meet Trace's piercing gaze.

"And I was telling her that I never got it," he says softly.

I can see my mother's smile in profile and know she's accomplished whatever goal she's struck out to reach. I really need to get her alone so I can set her straight.

"Look at the time. Y'all finish this up, hear?" She walks over to me and pecks me on the cheek. "I'll be back after my appointment, and then we can go shopping. You didn't forget, did you, sugar?"

I glare at my mother, stand up and cross my arms. Like I'm in the mood to shop now?

"Trace's coming with us. We'll have an early dinner after, I think." She walks to the door and he helps her into her coat. Reaching up, she pats his cheek and murmurs, "Such a sweet boy."

My eyebrows fly up. Trace? Sweet? In what reality?

With a waggle of her fingers and a quick "I'll see you later," Joanne is gone, and I'm alone with Trace. Again. We stand at opposite ends of the couch and stare at each other. He is first to break the silence.

"She never told me what the mysterious present was."

I blink and go to the coat closet. After digging around the top for a minute, I come back with a small box and toss it to him.

"You kept it?" he asks, surprise in his voice.

I shrug. I really don't want to talk about that time in my life. He lifts the lid.

"I had no idea what you might want," I say with an embarrassed smile. "You loved that car though."

He smiles and picks up the pewter keychain with the Camaro logo carved into it.

"It's perfect," he says softly. "Why did you keep it from me?"

Moving to the tree, I pick up an ornament and think over my answer. I can't come up with one that doesn't make me sound like a pathetic lovelorn sap. He comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders, moving to lightly massage the nape of my neck. Releasing a moan of pleasure, I let my head fall forward. After a moment, Trace turns me around and lifts my chin with one hand.

"Why didn't you?" he asks again.

I sigh. "I don't know. I ruined your life--you wouldn't have been there in the first place if it wasn't for me."

"You became a cop because of me." He looks bewildered for a second but then he teases me. "If you'd gone to law school instead I might have got out earlier."

I laugh. I may not be sure what my next step is but I'm pretty sure I'd hate being a lawyer.

"Anyway you didn't want anything to do with me. You made that clear the last time I saw you. Remember?"

"Oh Christ," he groans. "I wanted you there, all right. Every day, every year that I didn't hear from you I hated you a little more. I had this plan to get out and make you suffer."

I lean my forehead against his chest, cursing myself for being a fool. Of course that makes perfect sense. Hell, I already knew it. I try to move away, but his arms clamp around my waist. I push against his chest and glare up at him.

"Let me go, Trace."

"No, Serenity." He laughs. "I don't think so."

"I really hate that name, you know. That's what my father called me."

"Too bad." He grins. "I like it."

Sobering he asks, "Was he as bad as the rumors?"

Oh hell no. I'm not having that conversation with him. But for some reason, I find myself answering anyway.

"He was controlling. Autocratic. Hyper-critical." I sigh, then whisper. "I don't want to talk about him. I refuse to relive the past. We're free now, Mom and I."

"Not exactly," he answers softly and I struggle to decipher what I hear in his voice. Rage. Tenderness. "I don't think I'm ever going to be ready to let you go. You should start wrapping your mind around that concept."

Oh my God. My heart races while my stomach flips. He tugs me over to the couch and sits down, pulling me into his lap. He's intense and serious.

"Ten years. My hate and your sense of guilt built so much, and here we are, but hate is the last thing on my mind now. You have to decide if you're with me because you still feel guilty, or because of something else," he ends softly.

Thinking hard, I stare at the blinking tree lights. Had I loved him then? Do I love him now? Or is guilt pushing me toward him? Well, that and a healthy dose of lust. Things are changing between us, will no doubt change more, but I'm not ready to make this decision yet. I avoid the subject.

"Where did the lights come from? Mine didn't survive the move. I was going to get some today."

He gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I'm doing but he lets it slide.

"I picked them up at the grocery store this morning. You know, you have no food. You need to take better care of yourself," he says.

Is that disapproval I hear in his voice? This morning is getting stranger and stranger. I'm desperate to get back on footing I understand. His hand strokes up and down my back. The motion, which is both soothing and comforting, melts something around my heart and I start to believe. With a heartfelt sigh, I curl into him and let my hands wander over his body. Lazy morning sex is just what I need.

I give him a teasing smile and sit up enough to pull the sweatshirt over my head. I'm not wearing a bra, and his gaze immediately zeroes in on my nipples, which harden in the room's cool air. I tug him forward and yank his shirt over his head, sending it flying across the room.

Then I straddle his waist, running my hands over his chest. It is broad and smooth, every inch of it well-developed muscle. He's bruised from sparring with Lake. I lean over to press a kiss against one then move to swirl my tongue over one rigid nipple. His hands twist in my hair, and his groan gives me an idea. After last night's slow torture, he deserves some of his own. Crouching lower, I slide my tongue down the center of his body, pausing to dip into his belly button before continuing on.

I move to the floor between his thighs and reach for the snap on his jeans. He stands up and strips off both them and his underwear. By the time he sits back down, his cock stands at full attention. I look up to meet his gaze. It's hot and needy. So, my being on my knees in front of him turns him on? I should have known. What man doesn't have that fantasy? Leaning forward, I lick his shaft from base to tip and down again, until he tugs at my hair and groans.

"Serenity, for the love of God, I'm dying here."

I close my mouth over the head of his cock and hold his balls in the palm of my hand. Kneading them, I lightly suck him until he tries to thrust into my mouth. Opening it, I take him deeper and grip his length with one hand, bracing myself against the couch with the other. Letting him set the rhythm, I slide my mouth and hand up and down his cock until his breath comes in pants and he pulls me up.

"Enough," he says gruffly, standing and reaching for his jeans.

I pull mine off as he rips the foil from the condom. He rolls it on, and then positions me leaning forward over the back of the couch. Moving in behind me, he thrusts deep in one quick motion and builds a fast pounding rhythm. I'm already slick and when his fingers find my clit and pinch, it is all I need to come. My whole body seems to clench around him, and with a roar he comes right after me.

Lying over the back of the couch, I try to catch my breath. Is it my imagination, or is this getting better? I am so screwed if he decides to take off. But he's said he doesn't think he can. Do I dare trust in that? I can't deny that part of me wants him to stay. I try to contain my excitement, my hope. He strokes a hand down my spine sending shivers through me.

"How long will your mother be?" he asks softly.

Talk about a splash of cold water. I straighten and he backs away. I miss his heat. His weight against me.

"Not long. Thirty minutes or so. You don't have to go with us." I offer him an out. "It would probably be better if you don't, actually."

How am I going to explain him to my mother? His expression shuts down.

"Embarrassed of me, princess?"

Shit. I have a God given talent for pissing him off, that's for sure.

"She's going to be pushy," I explain. "And nosy. What are you gonna tell her when she asks what you do for a living?"

He actually chuckles at that. "The same thing I tell the IRS. I'm a mechanic and part owner of a very successful gym."

But can I keep the rest from my mother? He must see my conflict.

"It'll be fine, Serenity. Don't worry so much."

Don't worry so much? He's lost his mind. I'm always going to worry about him I realize with a sinking sensation. Between the fights and the other stuff, I have to think about what happens if he gets arrested or if he gets hurt or worse. Can I live that kind of life? I don't know. I'm not ready to walk away, though. Not yet.

Later, we ride to the mall in Mom's car. She chatters all the way, mostly sharing embarrassing stories about my childhood. Somehow I end up in the backseat and at crucial story moments, Trace turns and grins. He is enjoying it entirely too much. Once we're parked, I jump out of the car, glad to escape the closed confines and non-stop all-about-Lynn-fest. My mom is doing a hard sale. Either she really likes Trace, or she's decided to get serious about her give-me-grandchildren-now plea.

At the door, the three of us split up and agree to meet back at the car for lunch. When the Judge died, me and Mom had found both life and Christmas shopping much easier to handle diplomatically. We'd instituted a three gift limit. Most years we wait until a couple of days before Christmas, hit the mall together, and shop till we drop. It is one of the highlights of the season for both of us.

I don't have a long list: my secretary, Mom, Honor and Grace, Faye and something for Trace and Walker. Years ago, Walker and I came up with a twenty dollar rule for Christmas presents. Thank God, he is a reader. That makes his gift easy.

I go to the bookstore first, forcing myself to find something for him and get out before I waste the day. Next I go to the bath store and get several gifts--one for all the women on my list. The other two gifts for Joanne will not be so easy, and I don't have a clue what to get Trace. Wandering back out into the mall, I head for one of the large department stores and run into her. She is already loaded down with bags.

"Good grief, Mom. Who are you shopping for this year?"

"Oh, you know," she answers waving a hand in the air. "Friends. Daughters. Boyfriends."

She loops her arm through mine and we amble on. Here it comes. The Trace interrogation.

"I like him," Joanne says. "He'll stick."

I snort. "Yeah, Mom. We'll see."

Joanne looks over at me and arches an eyebrow. "That boy's loved you for years, Lynn. He isn't going anywhere."

Surprised at the conviction in my mother's voice, I frown. "You think? And ten years of silence is proof of his undying love, huh?"

"Yes. It is."

I stop and pull her out of the flow of traffic.

"Are you nuts, Mom?" My laugh is teary. "How is that exactly? Because I'm not seeing it."

Joanne grabs my hand and squeezes it.

"You come from very different backgrounds. You're a police officer. He's a..."

"Killer?" I ask coldly.

My mother steps back and presses her lips together. "I may have appeared to not be paying attention before your father died, but I know exactly what happened that night."

I sigh. It is the second mention of my father that day. I try to ignore the reference my mother makes to the shell, to the false façade she was forced to live with when the Judge was still alive. Joanne is happy now, free to be herself, and she is correct. Calling Trace a killer isn't a fair characterization. Is he capable of it? Sure. But it's not like the event was calculated murder. It was self-defense and defending me. He's more than paid for that act of protection.

"You're right. That wasn't fair," I respond. "But, Mom...He's not what he seems."

She sighs. "I know and he isn't going to change for you, Lynn. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you or that he won't take care of you."

I can't believe she's being so laid back about it. We resume walking.

"The real question is--how do you feel about him?"

I press my lips together and stare straight ahead. How do I feel about Trace? How far do I dare let myself go?

"I don't know," I say softly. "Am I feeling guilt, or lust, or what? I just don't know right now. A relationship with him would be damned near impossible."

Joanne pats my arm. "The best things always take work, honey."

We split up and I force my concerns from my mind. I hit the perfume counter. I pick up new scents for me and Mom, and then wander around looking for something for Trace. I don't see anything that strikes me as right. When my stomach growls, I check my watch and decide to head back to the car. Maybe something along the way will catch my eye. I run into Trace halfway back, and can't help but smile. Most people give him a wide berth, but several women crane their heads to get a better look.

"Hey," I say falling into step beside him.

"Hey," he answers. He has a couple of bags and grins when I try to sneak a look, moving them to his other hand.

"What do you want for Christmas, Trace?" I laugh. "I should have asked you that before we left the house."

He grabs my hand and brings my knuckles to his lips. His nibble sends shivers down my spine.

"I already have it," he says simply.

"Oh."

My voice catches in my throat. Thankfully, I'm saved from saying anything by Mom's arrival.

"Get everything you need?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I have some time tomorrow to finish."

Dinner goes smoothly and before I know it I'm back at my house, alone with Trace. I imagine a lazy afternoon in bed but his phone rings almost as soon as we walk inside. I know when he hangs up he's doing something for Hunter. Something either illegal or skating very close to the edge of the law. I can't do anything to stop it based on nothing but instinct though.

"I have to go out," he says.

What can I say to stop him? Anything at all? Looking into his eyes, I know I'm never gonna be able to change him. This is always gonna be a part of who he is. What he is. If I want to keep him in my life I have to accept this side of him and pray for the best. I don't know if I can do it, but now is probably not the best time to have that debate. Or argument. It's probably going to be an argument. So I just nod and walk him to the door.

"I won't ask, Trace, but please be careful."

He wraps an arm around my waist, strokes the side of my neck with his free hand. The touch is feather soft, tender and his gaze searches mine. It sends a shiver through me and I experience a burst of fear. That look... It's like he's trying to memorize me. Like he might not return. Oh God. I want him to come back. I need him to.

"You're coming back, aren't you?"

He gives me a half smile. "Yeah, baby. I'm coming back."

But I'm scared and the kiss he lays on me doesn't make me feel better. It's deep and soulful. Possessive and gentle. We're both breathing hard when he lifts his head. He presses his lips against my forehead a minute before stepping back and leaving the house. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do? My phone rings before I can chase off after him, which is a good thing. He wouldn't appreciate my interference. It's Faye and before I know it she's ignored my protests and enters the house. She holds up a bag.

"Ice cream intervention. And wine," she continues drolly when I spot the other bag.

I laugh and she follows me to the kitchen. After we each have a spoon, the chocolate fudge ripple is open, and two glasses are poured, she gets right to the point.

"I was expecting crying and sad eyes but since that isn't what I see, I'm guessing Hunter sent me here for a different reason."

I pause with the spoon halfway to my mouth. "Explain that," I demand.

She shrugs. "He called and ordered me to keep you company tonight. He didn't elaborate so I figured you and Trace broke it off."

No. If anything we're getting closer. I'm sure Hunter is aware of that so Faye must be here for a different reason. Is he distracting me so I don't look into whatever Trace is doing for him?

"I didn't know y'all knew each other," I say.

She shakes her head. "I don't really and this came through Ryder, actually."

She sounds annoyed when she mentions Hunter's right hand man and I cock an eyebrow.

"What's that all about?"

"What?" she asks defensively.

Wow. Are we all going to fall to River City bad boys? The idea is almost funny.

"You and Ryder, huh?"

I can see them together. If Ryder would learn to keep his dick in his pants. He was a charmer, a player. I feel bad for Faye if she wants him because I'm not sure he could do a serious relationship with a woman if he was paid to.

Faye snorts. "Oh hell no. That man? I know better. He's smoking hot and he knows it. And is happy to share it with anyone who asks."

"That sucks," I agree.

"Anyway, I wanna hear all about Trace."

I take a sip of wine. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about him yet. Or my feelings for him.

"Oh, come on, Lynn," she says softly. "I can see you want to talk about it."

"I have no idea what we're doing."

"But?"

"But I'm not walking away. It would be the smart thing to do but I just can't."

"You still love him."

I have to face this truth. I nod slowly. "I think so, yeah."

"And the rest? His job?"

I give her a pointed look. "You know you're here to distract me from that."

She offers a small smile. "You're letting me."

"Yeah." I sigh. "If I want him I have to accept that part of him. He isn't going to stop and if I insisted he'd just come to resent me."

"Has he offered to go straight?" she asks disbelievingly.

"No. I haven't asked and I'm not going to."

Mostly because I'm sure he'd say no way in hell and then I really would be a broken hearted mess. I don't want to know what he's up to tonight. Well I want to know enough to know he's safe, but that's it. I think we can both live with that. Several hours later I get to test that belief.

I haven't slept well so I hear his car pull up. I glance at the clock--three A.M.--before leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp. A second later the front door closes and he walks down the hall. I sit up and watch as he enters the room. He comes straight to me, leans down to cup my face, and gives me a quick kiss before stepping back.

"Why aren't you asleep, baby?" he asks he starts to remove his clothes.

"I was. I heard you pull into the driveway."

He gives me a disbelieving look. "You aren't that light a sleeper."

"Guess I've gotten used to not sleeping alone," I say a little sheepishly.

He joins me and we roll to our sides to face each other. I look him over and don't see any new bruises or injuries.

"You're okay?"

"Do you want me to tell you, Serenity? It has to stay between us."

I actually think that over a minute before I shake my head no. There's a flash of disappointment in his eyes and I wiggle closer.

"Maybe after I resign. It isn't safe now."

I can't believe I said that but I don't want to go through another night like tonight either. Worried out of my mind. I make another split second decision.

"I'm going to the fights."

His eyes widen. "Why?"

"Because it's important to you," I say softly. I know my first refusal to go disappointed him. "And if anything went wrong...I need to be close."

"Hey," he said, taking my face in his hands. "Nothing is going to happen. And tonight wasn't dangerous, I promise."

And then he kisses me and this is the last thing I want to talk about. He rolls over, pressing me into the mattress, and the comfort of his weight on top of me makes me sigh. He's real. He's here with me where we're both starting to accept we belong.

# Chapter Ten

Serenity

I step out of the bathtub and peek through the door to see Trace still sleeping, sprawled bare-ass naked across my bed. He's out for a few hours, I'm sure. It was three in the morning before he finally came back. And after we'd talked he'd been insatiable. I feel used in a good way, a little sore and totally satisfied. There might be an upside to this criminal life thing. I can't believe that thought even crosses my mind. I'm definitely getting used to having him around. I don't have time to think about the ramifications now. How far I might be willing to go for this man.

Hurriedly getting dressed, I drag a brush through my hair and pull it back into a ponytail. Monroe has promised me I can speak to Magee's crew again and I need to get a move on before they leave early for the holiday. Then I have some last minute Christmas shopping to take care of. Alone.

I pause at my kitchen door and frown. Should I leave him a note? Do we have that kind of relationship? I scrawl a 'be back in a bit' message and stick it on the fridge with a magnet. I'm running behind, but I stop in to see Walker first. Jimmy Richards meets me at the door.

"He's in the back, detective."

I nod. "Thanks, Jimmy."

I find Walker outside the back door spraying off an old car. Stopping beside him, I cross my arms over my chest, shivering a little against the winter chill.

"New car?"

He grins. "My Christmas present to myself. A fifty-seven Bel Air. She ain't much now, but she'll be awesome when she's restored."

I chuckle at his enthusiasm but I don't share his confidence. The car is a wreck.

"If you say so. Speaking of Christmas, do you have any idea what I should get Trace? I don't have a clue."

He laughs. "Nope. I'm fixin' to go to the mall. Wanna tag along?"

"I would, but I made arrangements to run out to Monroe's and catch Magee's crew again." I glance at my watch. "If I don't hurry, I'm going to miss them."

He nods, looking worried. "Be careful. Monroe's a snake."

I grin. "I'll be fine."

It's a fifteen minute drive to Monroe's business, which is housed in a warehouse farther down the river. I arrive around noon and find only three cars in the parking lot. I park near the door and go inside to see if any of Magee's crew have waited for me. One of them must know what really happened to Magee. If I keep asking questions, someone will eventually talk if not about Magee, then at least with something useful on Monroe.

The place appears to be empty and I'm damned tempted to sneak around a little, but I don't have a warrant. Instead I go around back to the dock. Monroe's boat is at the far end, and I see him and another man standing in front of it. I wave hello and he motions for me to come out. Damn. I think about making them come to me, but it will just take more time. Stepping out onto the dock, I look around and the nape of my neck tingles. I don't see anyone behind me, yet I hesitate before continuing. My sense of unease grows. Reaching behind me, I release the snap on my gun holster and rest my hand on the grip of my weapon. Sure it is within easy reach, I quicken my pace.

At the end of the dock, I nod to Monroe. "Did I miss everyone?"

"This is all of us, actually." I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see two men with drawn weapons. "We didn't have anything planned today."

I face him again to see a small pistol in his hands. I spread my arms.

"What are you doing, Tim? If I had anything on you, I'd have already arrested you."

"Ah, that's true," he says. "You're a cop. You have to play fair."

His tone turns derisive. "But you had to hook up with that lowlife Graham, didn't you? You could have had me, but you chose him."

"That doesn't explain why you're pointing a gun at me." I frown down at the pistol in his hand.

"Your boy's a problem. You might play fair, but he won't. And we all know how far he'll go if he thinks he's defending you. I thought he'd come with you today." He shrugs. "If he shows up, I can get rid of you both."

I suppress a groan and force a laugh. Please, God, let me get out of this mess before Trace comes looking for me. I have no doubt he will.

"I think you overestimate my hold over him, Tim. He won't come. He just wants revenge for spending ten years in prison."

His smirk is a little on the crazy side. "We'll see."

He motions to the boat with his gun hand. "Let's get on board, shall we?"

Two of the men climb onto the boat before me and tie my hands with rope when I gain the deck. I sit on a chair and listen to the four of them argue in low voices about what to do with me. Monroe and one of his associates are all for killing the cop right away. The other two mention caution. Hooray for caution. They take my gun, but don't search me. If I can somehow reach the knife in my boot, I can cut my bonds. Except one of them always has an eye on me.

Their argument seems to last forever, but it can't be more than twenty minutes. Finally, one of the men leaves the boat and stalks down the dock. The other three decide to lock me in a cabin and figure out what to do with me later. I'm marched downstairs and pushed inside a small storage room. Before I can release a sigh of relief, something comes down hard on my head. Falling forward, I catch myself with my wrists, preparing to roll and fight. Then I hear the door click shut behind me.

I dig the knife from my boot and saw through the rope binding my hands. My head pounds and with ginger fingers, I reach up to feel a knot already forming on the back of my scalp. My hand comes away bloody. Great. I lean back against the wall and try to regain my equilibrium.

A thud comes from outside the door, and I crawl over to peek through the wooden slats. One of the men sits in a chair in the tiny hallway. Queasy and dizzy, I let my eyes slide shut. My skull pounds and nausea roils my stomach. What a time to be afflicted with motion sickness. I just need to rest a minute. The next time I open my eyes, the room has grown dim and I hear shouting from the deck. Jerking upright, I groan and grab my head. Damn. I do not have fucking time for this.

The guard outside my door is on his feet and at the sound, turns to look at my door. The knob jiggles, and I reach for the closest small object and move to the wall beside the door. It creaks inward and the man steps through, whipping his head around to look for me. The boat rocks, tossing me forward, and I swing my arm at him with all the momentum I can muster. I hit him in the back of the head with a sickening crunch, and finally look at what I hold. A brass lamp base. Fighting off a wave of queasiness--God, I hate boats--I kneel at his side and feel for a pulse. It's weak, but it's there.

Silence descends topside and I make my way up the stairs, blinking against the glare of the sinking sun. Monroe is backed against the railing of the deck, his hands spread high and it takes me a moment to pick Trace out in the gathering gloom.

Trace

I wake alone. Heading to the shower, I glance at the time and wonder where Serenity is. The house is too quiet for her to be somewhere inside. It's three in the afternoon by the time I drag myself to my brother's after staring frustrated at her note in the kitchen long enough to percolate one cup of coffee.

Walker sits in his kitchen wrapping presents. I almost laugh at the scene. This is not something we'd done much as kids. There are no great Christmas memories for the Graham brothers.

"How'd it go last night?" he asks.

"All good."

I'd been right about the job but surprised at the size of it. Mike Thompson had somehow gotten the keys for a private garage. We'd cleaned it out, loaded them inside a couple eighteen wheelers, and dropped them off in Louisiana. It was a good haul but it'd taken a lot longer than I'd anticipated.

"Cool. I just got off the phone with Lynn's mother," Walker says. "Who apparently by-passed y'all because your phone's off the hook. Little early in the day for that, isn't it? Anyway, she's decided to move Christmas dinner to Lynn's, and we're invited. I don't know what's up with you two, but if I get to eat Joanne Jameson's cooking, I don't care."

I arch an eyebrow. I know Serenity's mom likes me, but I didn't realize how much. That is a damned sight better than having to worry about her getting used to me.

Walker frowns. "Where is Lynn? I thought we were going to grill over here tonight."

I shake my head. "I don't know. She left a note saying she'd be back later. I figured she was here."

Walker puts the paper and tape in a bag and tosses it aside. Reaching for the phone, he looks at me and raises a questioning brow.

"Did you call her?"

"There was no answer." I shrug. I left her a voice mail, and then pushed it out of my mind. I figured she was shopping. That might not have been the best way to go. Walker's expression grows grim and I start to get worried.

"She was going out to Monroe's to talk to some of his crew."

A sense of dread fills me. And then I'm just fucking pissed. God damn it! Why didn't she tell me? She's going to get herself killed. Monroe isn't stupid. He knows Serenity is investigating him and his business dealings. I grab my keys from the hook by the door and run out the door, with Walker right on my heels. I make the fifteen minute drive in seven. Monroe's building sits on several wooded acres, set far off the road to catch advantage of the river it borders. The gates are wide open and I drive quickly down the long tree-lined entrance. It opens onto a large parking lot in front of the main building. There are four cars, including Serenity's, in the lot.

Walker and I approach the warehouse and make a silent pass through it. Empty. Where is she? If Monroe has hurt her, I'll take him apart piece by piece. We walk through the back door and see the boat moored at the end of the dock. Exchanging a short look, we cautiously approach it, moving along the side of the property in the shadows.

Two men stand in the gloom on the deck. While we watch, one walks up the short steps to the captain's chair, while the other moves to the bow. My blood boils. Where is Serenity? No one is looking, so we sneak on board. I follow Walker on quiet feet, my brother going for the guy upstairs while I stalk the one on deck.

Noise erupts above me as I move in close enough to make out Monroe's profile. I can't spare a glance at my brother as I duck the fist coming at me. In one movement, I grab the gun from Monroe's hand and step out of his reach. I shake with rage, and it takes me a minute to find my voice.

"Where's Serenity?" I ask in a hard tone. I can't lose her again.

"How should I know?" Monroe asks, spreading his hands and backing up.

I narrow my eyes and cock the hammer. "I don't have a problem killing people, remember? Where is she?"

I catch movement on the edge of my vision, but don't dare turn away from Monroe to see what it is.

"I'm here," Serenity says.

I say a quick prayer of thanks to a God I haven't believed in for a very long time. Monroe shifts, and I lift the gun again. Serenity comes up next to me and holds out her hand.

"Give me the gun, Trace," she says softly.

I feel Walker approach my other side and from the corner of my eye see him cross his arms and glare at Monroe.

"Why don't you just leave, Serenity, and let us take care of Monroe?"

"Wasn't ten years in prison enough for you?" she asks dryly.

"I could shoot him in the knee."

"Hmm," she says, pretending to think it over. I think so, at least. "With your record, you'd still do a couple of years for aggravated assault. If not more."

I risk turning my head to meet her gaze and grin. "But you'd wait for me, right?"

Her eyes narrow and she puts her hands on her hips. She says angrily, "No. No, I will not, Trace. I'm not waiting for anyone anymore. Give me the damned gun!"

I lower the hammer and let the gun roll over so my hand is off the grip. Then I hand it to her.

"Thank you. Walker, see if you can find some rope to tie him and the others up," she says sweetly, eyeing Monroe. "Let's get them off this boat and inside the building."

I'm all for that but I have to do something else first. The man touched my woman. He wanted to kill her. I can't let that go completely unanswered.

"Sorry, baby," I say right before I approach Monroe and punch him--hard--in the gut. He grunts and doubles over. When I turn back Serenity is shaking her head.

"Just can't help yourself can you?"

"He assaulted me," Monroe complains. "Aren't you going to arrest him?"

I can't identify the look that crosses her face. "I didn't see a damned thing," she says.

Walker gets some rope and we round up the other two men. Serenity goes down the ladder first with the gun, followed by Monroe and his goons, and then us. We march Monroe into his office and tie him to his office chair. I think it's kind of poetic. The other two go in the office next door.

"Now what?" Walker asks.

"I'm about to call a friend of mine with the state drug team," she says, reaching for her phone. "Then I'll get a search warrant. I certainly have probable cause. Then we'll find out just what old Tim here has been up to."

She calls the judge first, and has one of her officers bring her a warrant. Walker and I stand over Monroe while she does a quick pass through the building. She's grinning when she comes back and calls her friend. A friend who doesn't just work for the state--he runs one of its drug teams. He and his crew show up an hour later. I've never been into drugs, but having so many cops around makes me antsy, especially when Monroe makes sure everyone knows I've just been released from prison and the suspicious looks start.

Serenity goes outside with her friend, whom she introduces as Andrew. He is a little too attentive, in my opinion, and they are gone a long time. I wait and watch the search. After a while, Serenity and Andrew come back inside. She finds me and Walker and pulls us aside.

"I need y'all to give an official statement and then you can get out of here, okay? One of Andrew's guys will do it in the conference room over there." She nods to a door behind us.

"Fine. What about you?"

"I'll be here awhile. Y'all do this, and then go on home."

She rubs the back of her neck and winces. I frown and step towards her.

"I'm fine," she says, lying to my face.

"Let me see." I grab her arm and spin her around. Ignoring the narcs watching me, I step close and lift her hair. She has a big knot on the back of her head and I can feel dried blood in her hair. I prod it gently. Someone knocked her good. I might just have to kill Monroe after all. She turns around, and I look her over before she moves away.

"I'm fine," she repeats softly. "And Monroe's in custody in a building full of cops. Don't even think about it."

I nod, forcing my fists to unclench and my jaw to loosen. God help Monroe if I ever get my hands on him. An officer approaches and asks if we're ready to make our statements, and I nod. Serenity meets my gaze.

"I'll talk to you later."

She sounds cold. Detached. I snort. So, it comes down to this. It's okay for her to fuck me, but she doesn't want anyone else to know about our relationship? Now that my fear for her has subsided, anger moves in to take its place. The hell with that. I grab her hand and yank her flat against my chest. Then I whisper in her ear.

"I'll go home this time, but I'm not leaving you. You'd better find a way to start explaining me."

Her buddy Andrew comes up behind her. I drop a light kiss on her lips, stand back, and meet the cop's gaze.

"She's got a big knot on the back of head," I say. "Make her get it looked at, will you?"

Then I turn on my heel, walk into the room designated for statements, and sit down. It brings back unpleasant memories. The last time I'd made a statement to law enforcement, I'd tried to calmly explain to the Chief of Police that the knife that had killed Billy Thompson wasn't mine. That I didn't intend to stab anyone with it. That if the moron hadn't tried to grab my girl, there would have never been a fight. But none of those explanations had made any difference. The town knew I was bad, that it was just a matter of time before I killed someone, and the judge would be damned if his little girl would end up with the likes of Trace Graham.

My jaw clenches again. I'd grind my molars to nothing at this rate. The state agent sits down and watches me for several long moments. Lost in my own thoughts and watching Serenity through the plate glass window, I ignore him. A medic bends over her injury and then moves around to shine a light in her eyes.

"I'm Tony Banks. I've known Lynn a long time. She has a reputation for being frigid and too fair," the agent says. I turn my gaze to meet the man's curious look. "There are very few people she calls friend. I'm guessing you're why we're here, instead of the county."

So, the agent considers this a fishing expedition. Banks isn't sure why Serenity called in the state team instead of the locals. I'm pretty sure it is because the locals won't give me a fair shake. They know me and my story too well. I sprawl in the chair and cross my arms over my chest. Two can play this game.

"How did she justify bringing the state boys in?" I'm pretty sure he knows why.

"Not hard to swing that." Banks shrugs. The action is nonchalant, but I don't miss the sharp intelligence in the other man's eyes. "She has inside info. She knows we've been hearing rumors about a new drug pipeline coming through here. We've also heard Monroe owns a few cops."

That surprises me. I'd kept my ears open and hadn't heard anything like that, but I've been gone a long time. I wonder if Hunter knows about this? Monroe doesn't trust anyone, so I doubt it. The rumors are probably true. Monroe's operation is pretty big to be running under everyone's radar but Serenity's.

"So she trusts you. Why are you different from everyone else?"

"Because Andrew's gay." Banks glowers. "And if you repeat that, I'll deny it. And me." He shrugs. "I'm...difficult to work with."

"Mmm hmm," I murmur, not wanting to comment and wondering how the fuck that is relevant to the here and now.

"The three of us work well together. Andrew has secrets, I'm an asshole, and Lynn has been known to look the other way if she thinks the law isn't serving justice," he says, serious now, no longer smiling. "We all got drunk together a few years ago and spilled our guts."

I look sharply at the agent. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I have a good idea who you are," Banks says with a shrug, and he wants me to confirm it. "She did tell me you were getting out of prison last time we spoke, but she seemed pretty conflicted about it."

He glances out the window into the foyer, and I follow his gaze. Andrew stands looking in at us, with his hands on his hips. "Guess she's made up her mind, though. She wouldn't be handing us such a big case if she hadn't decided you were the one worth defending this time."

It starts to sink in. The guy isn't passing judgment on me. He's just scoping me out. And Serenity has made her choice. I grin at Tony.

"Well, let's get this over with. Tomorrow's Christmas, and I still have things to do." I look back out the window and add softly, "Christmas is for miracles, isn't it?"
Chapter Eleven

Serenity

The full moon is low in the sky when I finally pull into the driveway. Fatigue beats at me and I rest my head on the steering wheel for a minute before reaching for my bag and the door handle. I hear music when I walk into the house, and I follow it to the bedroom. Empty. That means Trace is up. I'm dying to know what he'd said to Tony that had him smirking at me all night. I find him in the bathroom with a razor, shaving his face.

He cants his eyes to the side and smiles at me in the mirror. Walking in behind him, I eye the tattoo on the nape of his neck and lightly skim its outline with my finger. It is a simple black design, like two check marks joined in the middle and placed so one was on bottom and one was reversed on top. It is the only tattoo he got in prison. The others, he'd had long ago.

"When did you get this?" I ask.

I lean around him to meet his gaze in the mirror. He lowers the razor and swishes it in the water. Lifting it again, he answers, "About eight years ago."

He drags the razor over his chin.

"What is it?" I ask, exasperated when he doesn't continue.

"It's a Celtic Rune. It means defense."

"Ahh," I say, tracing it again. "What put you behind bars in the first place."

"Yes."

He says it so calmly, so matter-of-factly it makes my heart hurt. He cleans the razor and lets the water out of the sink. I step back while he puts everything away, and lean against the doorframe.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks.

"For letting you push me away. For not fighting for us," I whisper.

It's so clear to me now. I should have refused when he told me to stay away. I sure as fuck should have been at his trial and I should have seen him while he was prison. I loved him then and I love him now. He was right the other night. We do belong together. I just hope it's not too late.

"Why didn't you?"

"Guess I was afraid you really meant it. I was just young and stupid and scared, Trace."

I can't read his expression so I have no idea what he's thinking. My heart sinks a little. Is it too late? Should I lay it all on the line now? I want him in my life. I want him to love me.

"I won't lie. It pissed me off you didn't come, but I'm guilty too. I never reached out. Never tried to get you back in my life." He barks a laugh. "Not that it would have been much of a life."

It wouldn't have, he's right. But he would have been in it. I can't help but regret those lost years.

"I missed you so fucking much, Serenity. It made me weak and the last thing you can be inside is weak."

Now I really feel like shit. He's watching me and I have no idea what to say. Sorry won't cut it, will it? I say it anyway.

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, smiles a little. Then he cups my face and strokes my cheekbones with his thumbs.

"I was wrong, baby. You make me stronger. I think a part of me has always known that. The bad ass thug part that can't stand to be dependent on anyone else, ya know?" he teases.

Relief crashes through me and I sigh. My eyes drift shut. Soon, gentle arms come around my waist.

"Hey," he whispers. "You need to get some sleep."

He leads me to the bed and helps me out of my clothes. The alarm clock has been returned and I glance at it. The time surprises me. It's five o'clock in the morning. Where has the night gone? I crawl into bed and snuggle into Trace's warm arms.

"What are we doing? What is this?" I ask.

"I don't know," he says softly and I hear the honesty in his voice. "But it's real. It means something, and baby, it sure as hell ain't temporary."

No it's not. Even if he leaves me tomorrow I'm still in this. Still his. Then his hands are moving over me and I forget all those worries.

Trace

I'm pouring water in the coffee maker when a soft knock comes from the door behind me. Pulling it open, I stand back and watch as Walker and Jimmy, the delinquent he's trying to reign in, troop through it loaded down with boxes and bags.

"Moving in?" I joke.

Walker snorts and nods at the coffee maker. "You gonna finish making that?"

I walk over and flip the "on" switch while my brother unloads bags of food and presents. Jimmy sets a ham on the counter. A ham? Oh, right, Christmas dinner. I frown.

"I thought Joanne was cooking."

"She is, but it only seems fair that we do the buying."

"Guess so."

When everything has been either laid out or put away, Jimmy turns to Walker. "You're all set, man. I'm going to take off."

Walker gives him a hard look and nods. "You stay out of trouble, hear?"

Jimmy tries to look injured but ruins it with a grin. I shake my head. The kid is probably a lost cause.

"I will," he promises, crossing a finger over his chest.

Walker just rolls his eyes. "Go on. Don't call me if you get arrested," he calls after the boy before the door bangs shut.

I get two mugs from the drain board and fill them with coffee. I add sugar to mine and sit down at the table while Walker sits across from me. It's surreal to be here in this kitchen on Christmas Day, with the woman who means more to me than anyone in the world asleep in the next room and my brother across from me at the table. The room is silent except for the radio softly playing carols, and I relax with a sigh. Of course, Walker has to blow the mood.

"Get Lynn anything for Christmas?" he asks casually.

Damn. After the near miss at Monroe's warehouse, I'd blown what little shopping time I'd had left. "No. I was going to yesterday, but..."

Walker reaches for a small box he's set aside, opens it, and pushes it across the table to me. I stare in surprise at the ring.

"Remember that?"

How could I forget? Our grandmother's ring was out mother's only prized possession. Before our dad took off, she kept it hidden so it wouldn't get hocked. It's only cheap costume jewelry, but it had meant the world to her. And Walker had kept it? Bemused, I look up and meet my brother's eyes.

"I got curious about it a couple of years ago and took it to a jeweler. It's real."

I choke on my coffee. Where did it come from, then? Maybe Mom was right to keep it hidden.

"What is it?" I ask.

"A quarter carat ruby. The band is pure gold." He grins at my expression. "Yeah. I was surprised too--especially after thinking it was junk all those years."

I take one long last look at the ring, close the box and push it back across the table to Walker. He's building up to something--he might need it as a prop.

"You seem serious about Lynn. And pretty much over the whole revenge thing."

"Man, I'm toast." I bite back a laugh. "Yeah, it's serious."

"Maybe you want the ring, then." Walker lifts an eyebrow in question. "Course, it was Grandma's wedding ring, so maybe not."

I freeze. Marriage? Do I have the right to ask Serenity to tie herself to an ex-con? I reach for the box. She sees beyond that. I see beyond the cop. And in the end we will be together, married or not, so let the ring symbolize whatever it will. Walker whips out some Christmas paper and tape and wraps it up while I laugh. Am I that predictable?

We joke through the morning, and Joanne shows up a couple hours before noon. After being filled in on the day before, she peeks in on Serenity, then puts us to work and starts cooking. I can't remember the last time I spent a day laughing and cooking in a kitchen. It feels like family, and after the third time Joanne calls one of us son, it starts to sink in that it is family. My family.

A car stops out front and a door slams.

"That'll be my sister's girl, Grace. Honor's twin," Joanne says. "She lives in Atlanta, and she's all alone. I insisted she come down. Be a dear, and go help her with her things, will you Walker?"

"Sure, Joanne," he says, and goes out the back door.

"I don't remember your neice," I say when we're alone, but I recall what Walker had said about her and I'm looking forward to checking her out.

She smiles sadly. "Well, my sister had better sense than me. She and the judge hated each other on sight. I rarely saw her before he died, and then she died a couple years after him. Lynn and those girls are the only kin I have left. Till someone gives me grandkids, at least," she tacks on with an arch look. I avoid that statement.

"The judge was a real winner, wasn't he?" I ask darkly.

Her laugh tinkles through the room and she winks. "We're all much better off without him, that's for sure."

I already knew the judge was poison, not just for me, but his family too. How much more do I really need to know? The answer comes to me immediately. I want to know everything that has shaped Serenity, everything that has made her the woman she is now, good and bad. Before I can begin the conversation however, the back door suddenly bangs open and a tiny blonde steps through. Walker trails her, bags in hand, looking like he's just been hit with a two by four. He puts her bags on the floor and shuts the door, and she drops her purse on the table and walks into Joanne's arms for a long, tight hug.

They separate and Joanne turns to me with her arm around the newcomer's waist. No wonder Walker is shocked into speechlessness. She is classically beautiful, with long hair that frames a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and crystal blue eyes. She smiles up at me and extends her hand.

"You must be Trace," she says with a firm handshake. "I'm Grace Monroe."

Abruptly remembering an awkward little girl in pigtails, I blink.

"I see you remember me." She grins. "I hear you were at the warehouse when my second cousin was arrested yesterday. The slime ball. Couldn't have happened to a better guy."

Serenity coughs from the doorway. I look up to catch her smile just before she rushes in and she and her cousin grip each other in a long hug. Stepping back, they look each other up and down and break into simultaneous laugher.

"I'm glad you came," Serenity says.

Grace smiles and winks at Walker. "Wouldn't have missed it. So much eye candy."

My brother actually blushes and I turn to hide my grin. Isn't that interesting? Maybe he's wrong about that being a lost cause.

Serenity walks into my arms and I rest my chin on top of her head. I'm almost starting to trust the sense of belonging settling over me.

The cooking is finished in a loud din of gossip and laughter and I keep trying to clear my head, unsure if this day is real or a dream. Has it only been a week since I was released from prison?

Serenity and Grace set the table and transfer the food onto platters. Joanne hands me a knife and I carve the ham. Dinner is a blur and before I know it, we're cleaning up the mess we've made and pushing Joanne into the living room to relax with a glass of wine. Finally everything is cleaned up and packed away, and the presents are all transferred to the living room. Paper flies as they get unwrapped, one by one. When nothing else is left, I pull the box from my pocket and without a word pass it to Serenity. Taking a deep breath, she pulls the paper off and opens the box.

"Is that Lily's wedding ring?" Joanne asks in a surprised tone. "Why, I haven't seen that in years."

Serenity looks up and meets my gaze and I can't read her expression. Maybe this is a mistake. After last night's talk I'd thought maybe she'd be onboard, but hell I could be wrong.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she asks quietly. "Because if you are, I'm saying yes."

My throat freezes. Surely it can't be so easy.

"If you can handle being married to me, that is," she continues, a challenge in her words.

Unable to find my voice, I reach for the ring and slide it onto her left hand.

"I didn't get you anything," she whispers, lifting her hand so the ring catches the light. It's perfect on her hand.

"Yes, you did," I answer. I smile down at her before catching her lips in a soul-sucking kiss. The room erupts in applause and I break away, grinning.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I know." She squeals and jumps back when I swat her ass.

"Wrong answer," I growl, yanking her back.

She looks up at me.

"How could I not love the man who came to my rescue not once, but twice? Even if I didn't need any help the second time." She smiles. "I love you too, Trace Graham."

# Epilogue

Serenity

Two days after Christmas I find myself at the last impromptu BBQ I'd ever imagined attending. Trace, Walker, and their friends are here. And so are mine. Honor and Grace and Faye. They've come to celebrate my engagement and let's be honest, my resignation. I don't like what Trace does but I love him. It's real and strong and true.

"Are you sure about this?" Grace asks.

We're sitting around the fire pit in Walker's backyard while the guys grill. It's not too chilly tonight so it's comfortable.

"I am," I tell her. Tell all of them. It's just the four of us right now. "I know it's batshit crazy but it feels so right. I waited years for him to come home. I love him."

They don't look convinced and I get it. This is such a big departure from the life I've led. I've decided to embrace the crazy though. I'm totally into this man and I'm going to enjoy every minute I have. Like he knows I'm thinking about him, he appears at my side. His face lowers to mine. His lips claim mine. And I don't have one doubt left.

I'm his.

And he's mine.

# MORE FROM ELLE WYLDER

Thank you for reading TRACE. If you are interested in my other books join my mailing list or my Facebook Reader Group for news on upcoming releases. Turn the page to read chapter one of Walker, book two the Bad Boys of River City series.

BOOKS BY ELLE WYLDER

Bad Boys Of River City

Trace

Walker

Hunter

Love In Uniform

Take No Prisoners

Rules Of Engagement

Bank's Crossing

Fireworks

Damaged

WRITING AS LORIBELLE HUNT

Lunar Mates

Under Cover Of The Moon

Bad Moon Rising

Chasing The Moon

Call Of The Moon

Christmas Moon

Claiming The Moon

Captured Moon

Hunter's Moon

Seducer's Moon

Redstar Werewolf Pack

Once Bitten

Twice Shy

Third Time Lucky

Mated By Christmas

Delroi Connection

Invasion Earth

Leaving Earth

Stolen Earth

Claiming Earth

Delroi Prophecy

Freedom

Irresistible

Redemption

Absolution

Delroi Warrior

Shadow Warrior

Dark Warrior

Delroi Novellas

Galinn

The Varangian Chronicles

Viking's Heart

Viking's Dream

Viking's Awakening

#  Walker: Bad Boys of River City 2 (Excerpt)

Grace

I'm being hunted and it really chaps my ass. At first I thought I was just being paranoid. Investigating the brutal murder of a crime boss can do that to a girl, even if the event is almost eight years old. But I learned to go with my gut in the Army, and that itchy feeling on the back of my neck is not going away.

Someone is following me.

Letting the straps of my bag slide off my shoulder to the ground, I quickly drop to my knee on the sidewalk to tie a shoe that doesn't need it, and scan the street. Nothing. A few things fall out of my purse during the ruse and I shove them back in, the straps once again going over my shoulder as I straighten.

A small white rectangle flutters to the sidewalk and I reach to retrieve it, the three rows of black block lettering making me grimace as my fingers lift it up. Graham's Garage. Walker Graham. Owner/operator. I came here looking for someone else's secrets and I found his. I know he's not clean but it's a shock to finally have some of the holes in his past filled in. He's scrawled call me, babe and his phone numbers across the back. Someone else to add to my growing list of problems--and oh my God--suspects.

The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I can't remember the last time I've been so spooked. I hastily push the card into my back pocket and cautiously start down the street. It was light out when I arrived at the police station in downtown Birmingham to speak to one of their homicide detectives, but traffic forced me to find a parking spot a couple of blocks away on a more secluded side street. A few streets over I can see the hustle and bustle of early evening on the busier main drag, but all of that is too far away to protect me from whatever hunts me here on this deserted road. The feeling of unease increases and I pick up my step, hurrying around the last corner that will take me to my car.

I've been hired to investigate cold murder cases before. It's not like this is the first time. It is the first time I know people involved in the case, however. My cousin Lynn was one of the responding officers, and the Birmingham police detective I just talked to said Walker was their number one suspect. I was so disbelieving he showed me Walker's record. To call it extensive is an understatement. And disturbing. I stopped trusting men after just a few months with my ex-husband. The marriage was over years ago but the distrust will never go away though I've come close to something like it with Walker. I want him to be innocent of this murder, but even if he is, he is sure as hell guilty of everything else.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my black SUV waiting exactly where I left it. I can't wait to get back to Atlanta. Digging through my bag for the keys, I curse myself for not having them out and ready. I know better. I resist the irrational urge to cheer when my fingers close over the cold metal and yank them free.

Closing the final feet to the driver's door, I experience a sudden spike of fear. Adrenalin pumps through my veins and crawls across my skin, and I whirl in anticipation of an attack. Pulse racing, I search the dark corners of the street. Nothing. The area is clear. But the feeling of being pursued, being stalked doesn't subside. Keeping my eyes sharply focused on the area I came from, I fumble the key into the door lock. It takes valuable seconds too long, but finally clicks open. Pulling the handle up, I back away a little and edge around the door, tossing my bag inside.

I hear the loud pop before the pain registers a split second later. My leg crumples under me, forcing me to the ground. I shift position to try to get a look down the street and fire arcs through my thigh. My hand brushes against the pain and comes away wet and red. I stare at it, mind racing and adrenalin-pumped blood surging. Someone shot me. And son of a bitch it hurts.

I can't see anything crouched down next to the car and reach for the seat to leverage myself up. I have to get out of here. Get to my gun. Call the police. Blood pools under my feet as I move. Find a freaking hospital.

I get the foot of my good leg under me and push up. As my upper body clears the side of the truck's seat, several shots fire over my head and I drop back to the ground. I set my back to the open door and search the shadows in front of me, the direction the shooting came from. The last group of shots were over my head but I'm still wide open. Anger surges through me. The fucker is toying with me. He could finish me off now, but doesn't. Why not?

My thigh pulses in pain and I press both palms over it, watching blood seep through my fingers. I try to bring my thundering heart under control, know each wild beat pumps more of my blood out of my body. I have to get out of here, have to get to a hospital before I bleed to death. An ambulance's siren screams in the distance and I fight back a scream, knowing I'm just a few short blocks from one of the best hospitals in the South while my life bleeds out on a deserted city street. The irony of the situation is impossible to ignore.

I curse myself again for taking this damned job, still unsure exactly what I've gotten myself into. The investigation sounded like an interesting challenge. But that isn't the real reason. It was the money that did it. That and the boredom. Bitterly, I acknowledge the truth of the thought. Yeah. Money. The root of all evil. I snort. I'm getting maudlin in my near death experience and not being objective about my reasons, my goals. I want to move home to River City and open up shop there. I'll be starting from nothing. And unfortunately, I'm caught in the same real estate crunch as everyone else. I can buy out the lease on my office space, no problem. But my condo? I'm so underwater it's criminal. So yeah I need the payday solving this case promises to be. Nothing wrong with that, right? Except the small matter of finding myself under fire on this dingy street. It's like being back in Iraq. Without the superior firepower. Or backup.

The hell with this shit. Turning my head, I study the interior of my vehicle. My gun is in the glove box on the far side. No way I can reach it. But my cell phone is clipped to the side of my purse, sitting on the center console. I assume putting a phone to my ear will get me shot at again, but if I can just reach it, I can use it on speakerphone and hide it on the floorboard next to me.

Stretching my arm across the seat, eyes scanning the street, I grip one of the straps and slowly ease it towards me. It gets tangled in the emergency brake, and the phone is inches from my fingers. Out of reach. Taunting me. Gritting my teeth, I raise my body a fraction, get a few more inches out of the stretch and my hand closes over the small black box. Or maybe it is the spots that suddenly swim in my vision that are black. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting my arm fall to the floor and my butt sink back to the ground. The phone and the spots are black. Shit. I'm going into shock. I'm going to pass out soon. Unconsciousness tugs at my limbs.

I lean against the side of the car, one hand pressing against my leg and the other sliding the bar to unlock the phone. I struggle to find the phone icon, punch in the numbers, and turn on the speakerphone, nearly panicking and blinking rapidly when the spots return.

"911. What's your emergency?"

The feminine voice is immediate and sweet, the best I've ever heard. I rattle off my name, location, and that I've been shot, then the world fades to black.

I wake slowly, my mind foggy and body leaden, my leg a dull distant throb of tenderness. It's an effort to crack my eyes open and peer around. My murky brain catalogues the space. A small white room, wires running in and out of my body, a bed. I'm in a hospital. Struggling to remember why, I shift, trying to sit up and gasp at the sharp twinge of pain as I jostle my leg. The door slides open and a young woman in surgical scrubs comes in. I squint at her nametag, but can't make it out. The woman smiles.

"Good. You're awake."

"What happened?" I manage to croak in reply and am suddenly aware of how dry my throat was. Worst cotton mouth ever. "Can I have some water?"

The other woman picks up a cup and holds it to mouth. I lick some of the shaved ice. When I nod she sets it back on the table and smiles gently.

"You just came out of surgery. The doctor removed the bullet and everything looks fine."

I drop my head back against the pillow and close my eyes. I got shot?

"Mr. Graham is on his way. We should have you moved out of recovery and into ICU before he arrives." The nurse winks. "Tell me, is he as sexy in person as he is on the phone?"

Shit. Walker is coming? I'm not sure I can take him right now. Or maybe the nurse means his brother, Trace?

"Walker?" I whisper. "Or Trace?"

The woman cocks an eyebrow. "There's two of 'em?"

I can't help but grin in response. Yes, God help us all. There are two of them. It's too many words to force through my parched throat so I just nod.

"Which one?" I ask when the silence stretches.

"Oh sorry!" The nurse pauses while recording the various instrument readings. "Walker." She flashes another wicked grin. "And he sounds yummy."

I force a smile. "He is."

Hot. Territorial. Possessive. Well, he would be if I don't stay very clear about the rules. I don't delude myself into thinking that is due to anything but pure dumb luck--I live in Atlanta and he lives just outside River City, in southern Alabama. It will be much harder to resist him when I have to deal with prolonged exposure. I groan. Damn. He's coming here. He will probably go all macho and alpha male on me now. My body tingles and it isn't from the morphine injection I just received.

He is definitely yummy, but I feel a trickle of unease the more I think of him coming, something I'm forgetting, a reason I need space before dealing with him again. Something that refuses to rise to the surface of my drug-addled brain. I fight a yawn as the nurse slips out the door, try to force the correct synapses to fire in my head, but can't fight the slide back into oblivion.

#  COPYRIGHT

Copyright  2016 Elle Wylder

Discover other titles by Elle Wylder at

http://www.ellewylder.com/

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

