Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

“Who knows?” Javier sat on the edge of her desk, caught her hands, and held them, turning her to face him. “Are you sure this is a good idea, bella? You’ve been through a lot and—”

“I have to do something.” She glared at him, but behind the anger in her eyes he saw desperation. “I can’t just sit here, hidden away, waiting for Al-Nassar’s goons to get it right next time and kill me. If I could just understand why Ali did this . . .”

“Would it fix anything? Would it?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, worry on her pretty face. “I . . . I don’t know. I hate unanswered questions, and I think his parents deserve an answer. Don’t you?”

Sure, he did. “When it comes to shit like this—kids getting radicalized, wanting to kill and die—there are no easy answers.”

Her chin went up, that defiant look coming over her face. “I’m going to do my best to figure it out.”

“What do you think McBride will have to say about you digging through classified, leaked documents and working your own angle on his case?”

“Who’s going to tell him?”

Javier opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

Her lips curved in a deliberately sweet smile. “That’s what I thought.”

She has you figured out, hermano.

She clicked Print. “I also need to find out how Derek Tower is tied to this.”

“You heard about that.”

She took a few sheets of paper from her printer tray. “Gary told me. I called the hospital. Tower is still in ICU in critical condition.”

Chapin again.

How Javier hated that pendejo. “What Gary doesn’t know is that Tower was armed with an assault rifle loaded with armor-piercing rounds. We’ve got no clue what he was doing there or how he’s mixed up in this, but if he’s not the sniper, it’s a good bet he knows who is.”

“I hope he makes it.” She stood, the defiance she’d worn on her face moments ago crumpling. “I need this to be over. I need it to end.”

He drew her into his arms, kissed her hair, savored the feel of her, her fear and vulnerability rousing a fierce protective instinct inside him. “What you said earlier about waiting for Al-Nassar’s goons to get it right and kill you? That won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Javi. You’ve missed out on time with Nate and put yourself in danger for my sake, and now you might be facing a disciplinary hearing. You’re sacrificing so much—too much.”

How could she think that she didn’t deserve him? If anything, it was the other way around. “Let me worry about that, okay?”

She looked up at him. “I feel bad saying this, but I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Then she stood on her tiptoes—and kissed him.

A jagged bolt of heat shot through him, stirring up the hunger he’d spent the past week trying so hard to suppress. He’d told himself he wouldn’t let this happen again, his pulse like thunder as she brushed his lips with hers, teased their outline with her tongue.

If only he didn’t want her so damned bad . . .

And she seemed to want him, too.

LAURA HAD MEANT to kiss Javier’s cheek, a quick kiss to thank him for all he’d done, to show him she cared. Instead, her lips found his, the fleeting contact sending a warm shimmer through her, stealing her breath, making her worries vanish. She heard Javier’s quick intake of breath, felt his body tense as she kissed him again.

He began to kiss her back, submissively at first, letting her take the lead, ceding control to her. But Laura knew from experience that Javier was not a submissive man. He’d been the only man she’d ever had sex with whose drive matched hers, the only man she’d known who was strong and skilled enough to top her and bring out her submissive side. Clearly, he was holding back, trying to respect the boundaries she’d set, doing his best to make sure she felt safe. Except that she didn’t want to feel safe.

She wanted to feel alive again, exhilarated, vibrant.

She drew his head down, brushed her lips across his, whispered, “Kiss me.”

With a groan, he began to kiss her back, slow and deep, one big hand sliding inch by inch up her spine, the other splayed across her lower back, drawing her closer, his body so hard against hers, strong and male.

Laura’s blood seemed to ignite, a bolt of heat piercing her belly, raw need for him making her pulse skip, delight surging inside her like a sunrise, driving away the darkness.

He drew back, looked down at her through warm eyes. “Do you feel that—the way your touch makes me shake? God, bella.”

His mouth claimed hers again, this kiss as fierce as the first had been gentle, his hand fisting in her hair, his heart thudding hard against hers.

Laura felt her knees go weak.

With slow, drunken steps, Javier backed her up against the wall, his lips and tongue relentless, his fingers working her hair from its twist, his erection hard against her hip. The feel of his arousal and the hard press of the wall behind her elicited delicious memories of the afternoon in Dubai when he’d picked her up, wrapped her legs around his waist, and fucked her up against the wall.

The memory and the man and the moment came together, naked desire flooding Laura’s veins like a drug. She arched into him, her fingers caressing the shifting muscles of his back, the stubbled line of his jaw, the steel of his shoulders.

He lowered his lips to her throat, possessing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, caressing, nibbling, teasing. A hand closed over her breast, the delicious shock of it making her jerk and gasp. His thumb flicked her hardened nipple through the cloth of her shirt, unleashing a flood of liquid heat between her thighs. “Were your stretch marks the only thing holding you back from letting me touch you like this?”

His breath was hot against her throat, his voice strained.

“Yes. No!” She looked into Javier’s eyes, her pulse still racing, his words resurrecting old fears. She wasn’t sure how she would react if they actually tried to have sex. “What if I’m not ready for this?”

His lips, wet from kissing, curved in a smile. “I guess we’ll have to take it slow.”

He’d just lowered his mouth to hers again when his cell phone rang. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew reluctantly away from her, seeming to recognize the ring tone. “I’m so sorry, bella. I have to take this.”

Disappointment almost made her moan. “NSW again?”

He nodded, reached into his jeans pocket. “My platoon commander.”

JAVIER HAD JUST gotten off the phone from having his ass chewed by the platoon commander, who’d let him off with a warning, when his folks called to find out why they’d seen him on the news and how he was connected to Laura. That call had been interrupted by one from McBride, who said he was on his way over to update Laura on the investigation and to ask her to view the surveillance video from the parking garage.

So much for picking up where he and Laura had left off.

“You think she’s up for it?” McBride asked.

Javier looked over to where Laura stood, frozen in the act of making a salad as she listened to Javier. “Yeah, I think she is.”

Fifteen minutes later, McBride sat in Laura’s living room, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand. “The photographer bonded out.”

So the hijoeputa was back on the street.

“If he shows up here again, I’ll—”

McBride’s gaze narrowed. “If he shows up here again, you’ll call the cops.”

“That’s what I was going to say.”

“Right.”

Laura poured herself a cup of coffee and sat beside Javier, her hand sliding easily into his, her fingers cold. He’d known she was nervous, but he hadn’t realized how nervous. He got up, turned on the fire, and sat down beside her again.

“First, this isn’t for the paper,” McBride said. “Agreed?”

Laura nodded.

“Tower wasn’t our shooter.” McBride held up a clear plastic bag with spent shell casings. “We recovered these at the site. Whoever tried to kill you, Laura, was firing 7.62 NATO AP rounds, not five-five-six.”

Laura looked puzzled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.”

“Tower was carrying an AR-15 armed with five-five-six green tip, a specific armor-piercing round. The shooter’s weapon used a different caliber.”

“I understand.”

McBride held up a DVD. “We’d hoped the surveillance video from the parking garage would give us all the answers we want, but so far we just have more questions. Laura, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to watch this.”

“Of course.” Laura took the disk and popped it in the player, then turned on the television and handed the remote to McBride. When she sat down beside Javier again, her fingers were even colder.

McBride leaned closer to Laura. “I know this won’t be easy for you to see, but I’m hoping you’ll recognize something about the shooter—the way he walks, how he’s dressed, or something he does. Even the smallest detail might help us identify him.”

Javier had to hand it to McBride. He was doing his best not only to catch a killer, but also to keep from traumatizing Laura further. Then again, Nate wouldn’t have considered McBride a friend if McBride had been an asshole.

“I’ll do my best,” Laura answered.

McBride pushed Play, and a greenish image flickered to life, showing the entrance of the parking garage with a time stamp of sixteen hundred hours—a good two hours before Laura had arrived at the television station.