Tucker Page 9

  What was this crazy sensation that quickened the blood flow through her veins every time he popped into her head—which was happening more and more frequently?

  July pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. What was even clearer was that she hadn’t been able to tell him about her own needs. Last night, after her encounter with Leo Stravanos, she’d wanted to ask for his help, but she’d been unable to tell him. She was accustomed to being strong and in control. The one who solved other people’s problems and met their needs. Not the other way around.

  The weatherman predicted more snow and again urged everyone to stay home. She thought she heard a sound in the front of the apartment. Turning the TV down a notch, she cocked her head and listened.

  Yes. Most definitely. Tucker must be up and about.

  A delicious aroma caught her attention. Bacon. Coffee. Eggs. Her stomach growled. Throwing back the covers, she put on her housecoat and slippers then padded into the kitchen.

  Tucker stood at the stove, his hair mussed, tongs in his hand. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Making breakfast.” He grinned.

  “But...but...you can’t do that,” she sputtered.

  “Why not? You cooked for me yesterday.”

  “And you brought me Chinese last night, so we’re even-steven.”

  “It’s not a contest.” Tucker flipped a strip of bacon.

  “Then let me help.” She moved closer.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m treating you.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, July folded her arms across her chest. She wasn’t used to pampering.

  As a child, she had been the family caretaker—looking out for her two younger sisters, cooking supper when their mother was out of it, doing her level best to maintain the exterior of normalcy her father insisted upon preserving no matter how bad her mother’s addiction became.

  No, she certainly wasn’t accustomed to being waited on, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  “It’s my kitchen,” she said, asserting her authority.

  “July,” he said in a commanding tone. “Sit.”

  She gulped and shivered, excited and turned on.

  Mesmerized, July plunked down at the table, watching as he prepared their breakfast. His broad shoulders bunched beneath his T-shirt, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he hummed tunelessly.

  She fingered the hem of her housecoat, her gaze never leaving his body. Images of last night’s kiss kept rising in her mind. She could smell him, taste him, feel the pressure of those

  firm, full lips.

  He took biscuits from the oven and rested them on the counter.

  “I’ll butter those,” she offered, rising halfway.

  “Nuh-uh.” He shook his head. “Stay still.”

  It took tremendous willpower to sit back down when all she wanted was to get up and help. It was pure torture allowing him to do for her.

  Without even trying, he drew her into his highly charged atmosphere. Even sitting five feet away, she literally felt his energy.

  Yes, he had secrets. Yes, he’d suffered. Yes, Tucker was a difficult man to understand, but July knew she brought out the best in him.

  He turned his gaze on her, and his dark eyes narrowed.

  July met his stare and found herself breathless. He appeared calm, quiet, steady. She admired those qualities, and yet, was frightened by the underlying element of danger.

  How such a potent, compelling man had ended up on the streets. Surely, she wasn’t the only one to recognize his potential. What secrets did he hide?

  “Breakfast is served,” he said, sliding a plate in front of her.

  Their eyes met once more.

  His pupils widened. He was so handsome!

  Her heart tripped.

  Oh Lord, she was in deep.

  The way July beamed at him melted Tucker’s heart. She was changing him in so many ways—ways he hadn’t want to change. He liked his cynical, pessimist outlook. It kept him safe. He didn’t want to be coaxed into her positive frame of mind, but despite his best intention, he wanted to please her.

  He couldn’t say what had possessed him to cook her breakfast. He’d awakened with the desire to do something special for her. She was always doing things for other people; it was time she received something in return.

  But it was darned hard pleasing the woman because she was so uncomfortable on the receiving end. He’d seen the reluctance in her face.

  The truth was, he was uneasy making such kind gestures. Rusty at being with a woman. Yet now, because of her, he wanted to change. Wanted it so much, the urge scared him. He was afraid of doing the wrong thing, of saying something stupid, of being rejected by this beautiful woman. She had every right to reject him.

  Both his pretend facade and the real Tucker that lurked beyond the undercover charade.

  While she nibbled a bacon slice, Tucker studied her heart-shaped face. Even tousled from a restless night, she was gorgeous. Her light-brown hair curled in a tempting jumble. He longed to run his fingers through it. Her small pert lips pressed together sweetly as she chewed. He longed to rest his mouth on hers. Her green eyes shone brightly. He longed to wander in and get lost there.

  July turned her attention to her food, digging out a grapefruit wedge with her spoon. A spurt of juice shot free and splattered Tucker squarely on the jaw.

  Slapping her hand across her mouth, July giggled.

  Tucker smiled. Her laughter did wondrous things to him.

  “Here,” she said, reaching for her napkin. “Lean over, and I’ll wipe it off for you.”

  Obediently, Tucker leaned over until his chest rested on her arm.

  She pressed the napkin to his chin. Her touch was a heated brand against his skin.

  Tucker hissed in his breath and jerked back.

  July’s eyes widened, and her hand trembled.

  They both looked away.

  What had just happened? Tucker curled his hands into fists and willed himself to calm down.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” July said once they had finished eating. “It was really sweet, but totally unnecessary.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tucker mumbled. “Why don’t you shower and get dressed while I clean the kitchen?”

  “But, Tucker...” she protested. “You did all the cooking.”

  “No buts. Get.”

  Giggling again, she pushed back her chair and sashayed from the room, his gaze glued to her fabulous fanny.

  For the love of Pete, he had to get a handle on his sex drive! The feelings erupting inside him were too much. If he didn’t know better, he might suspect he was falling for July Johnson.

  No. That couldn’t be it. He wanted her, yes. His body ached for her with sharp, drastic need. But anything more than that? No way.

  The shower came on in the bathroom. He imagined July standing under the steady stream of warm water, her breasts rising high and perky as she inhaled, her wet hair plastered to her skin, her hands moving over her body as she lathered herself with soap.

  Groaning, Tucker slapped the dishes into the dishwasher. An intense shudder passed through him. What was he going to do about this? He had to stay with July. Now that the Stravanos brothers were nervous, he couldn’t leave her alone. Yet staying in close confines was driving him to distraction.

  He needed to get outside, clear his head. Time spent in the freezing weather would cool his overheated jets. Besides, he needed to check in with Lieutenant Petruski and update him on the stakeout.

  He left the skillet to soak in the sink. Quietly, Tucker walked to the living room and removed his gun and holster from where he’d secreted it under the couch after she’d gone to bed. Strapping the holster into place under his T-shirt, he slipped into his leather jacket and let himself out of the apartment.

  Tucker sat in his pickup truck in the parking garage of some medical offices three blocks from July’s house. He’d taken off his sh
oulder holster and stuffed it back under the seat—he kept worrying July would see it—but he didn’t want to be without his weapon, so he slipped the 9mm into the back of his waistband, untucked his shirt, and tugged the tail down over his jeans.

  He took out his cell phone and made the call.

  “What’s up?” Petruski answered in his usual gruff voice.

  “The subjects are getting antsy. I think something is about to break.”

  “Evidence?” Petruski said. “Or is this just your famous Haynes instinct?”

  “I saw something last night that has me believing they’ve gotten in a new shipment of counterfeit passports and driver’s licenses.” Quickly, he gave Petruski a rundown on what had happened the night before but leaving July out of it.

  “So, you didn’t see what Leo Stravanos had inside the box?”

  “No, but they said as much.”

  “That’s hearsay.”

  “I know.”

  “They say anything about the person who is behind their operation?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t have a clue who it is?’

  “No one other than Ramon Sanchez, and that was based on your deduction.”

  “I’ve gone through the case against the Stravanos brothers again, and I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think Sanchez is the brains behind the counterfeit ring.”

  “No?”

  “Sanchez has his fingers in a lot of pies, but he’s never been involved in forgeries or counterfeiting before.” Lieutenant Petruski grunted. “Have you made contact with Sheriff Forrester?”

  The shift in Petruski’s tone gave Tucker pause, so he answered a question with a question. “Why? Did you talk to Matt?”

  “No,” Petruski said.

  The weirdest sensation came over Tucker, and he couldn’t help thinking his boss was lying. But why would Petruski lie about talking to Matt? Did it have something to do with the sheriff wanting to involve Homeland Security and ICE in the investigation?

  Is that why Petruski was steering Tucker away from Sanchez? He wanted the win for himself. The lieutenant was a competitive guy with his eyes on that big promotion.

  Feeling like a pawn in someone else’s chess game, Tucker said, “You want me to come home?”

  “No, no, no.” Petruski clicked his tongue. “As you said, something’s about to break. I want you to stick with this. You’re doing good work.”

  It sounded like a platitude.

  What was the matter with him? Why was he always looking for the other person’s angle? Why couldn’t he accept a simple compliment?

  “Will do,” Tucker said.

  “Oh, and let’s keep Sheriff Forrester out of this. I know you two are friends, but he’s no longer on the EPPD, and we don’t need him meddling in our investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Petruski hung up without another word, leaving Tucker wondering just what in the world had gone on between his boss and his closest friend.

  10

  Humming, July climbed from the shower and wrapped a thick, fluffy towel around her head. She grinned at herself in the mirror.

  “He cooked breakfast for you,” she whispered, pointing at her reflection. It felt damn good to be pampered. “You’ve got to show him how much you appreciate that.”

  But how?

  With a long, sensuous kiss.

  The thought floated through her mind, and she blushed so thoroughly, the tips of her ears turned red. The truth was she wanted to do much more with Tucker than kiss him.

  “July Johnson,” she scolded, shaking her finger at her mirror image. “There are plenty of other ways to reciprocate. Stop thinking like a teenage girl with a crush on the high school bad boy.”

  Properly lectured, she dressed and wandered through the apartment, toweling her hair dry.

  “Tucker,” she called out, entering the living room and glancing around for him. “Where are you?”

  No answer.

  “Tucker?” She peered into the clean kitchen. He’s tidy, she thought. But where was he? Puzzled, she frowned.

  Her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  Heavy breathing.

  July frowned. “Who is this?”

  More heavy breathing answered her.

  July sucked in her breath, the phone suddenly hot in her hand. “What do you want?” she asked, fighting to keep the quiver from her voice.

  “Mind your own business. Got it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Who is this?”

  “I think you do know.” There was no mistaking the ominous tone.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Just keep your mouth shut about anything you might have seen last night, and you’re in no danger.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” It had to be her neighbor or his brother on the other end of the line.

  “Very good. I see you’ve gotten the point.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Remember, keep your mouth shut. We’re watching your every move.

  Terrified, July dropped her phone. Clasping both hands over her mouth, she took a step

  backward and bumped into the kitchen sink. Nausea rose to her throat as a sense of utter violation washed over her.

  “Tucker,” she whimpered. “Where are you?”

  Hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders bent against the wind, Tucker climbed the back stairs to July’s place. He walked in to find her standing in the middle of the kitchen, her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  “July?” Concern for her stabbed him. “Are you all right, honey?”

  Honey? Why had he said that?

  She nodded.

  “Your phone’s on the floor,” he said, moving across the kitchen to pick up her cell phone.

  The look in her eyes bothered him. Instead of the usual trust and optimism shining in those emerald depths, he saw wariness.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  Her firm little body was packed into tight blue jeans and a thick red cable sweater with a white blouse underneath. Tiny hoop earrings danced at her ears, and a gold locket hung about her neck.

  Tucker had a headlong urge to nibble those earrings right off those delicious ears. Letting his eyes shutter closed for a moment, he battled the erotic sensation. The phone rang in his hand, and his eyes flew open.

  July’s mouth rounded, but she made no move to take the phone from him.

  It rang again.

  “You gonna answer that?” He held out the phone.

  “Whose name is on the caller ID?”

  “No name. Just a number.”

  “Would you get it for me?” she whispered.

  “Okay.” Bewildered at her behavior, Tucker answered her phone. “Hello?”

  “Is July home?” a perky female voice asked.

  “It’s for you.” Tucker handed the phone to July.

  “Hi.” She talked for a few moments then rang off. “That was my friend Diane.”

  Tucker arched an eyebrow and waited for her explanation. He didn’t like the look on her face, and her skin was still pale.

  “They need someone to serve lunch at the homeless shelter.”

  “Now?”

  “With the weather, they’ve got an overflow crowd and not enough people to help prepare lunch. Would you like to come with me?”

  He shifted his weight. He wanted to do whatever would bring the brightness back into her eyes and return the cheerful smile to her lips.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “We can walk—it’s only a mile—and that way we don’t have to worry about driving in the snow.”

  “Okay.” He locked his gaze on hers, but she was unable to hold his stare.

  “I better get my coat.” She drifted to the hall closet to get her down-filled coat.

  After she was bundled up, he put on his Stetson and led the way outside.

  The landing was slippery and thick w
ith ice. Her feet skidded.

  “Careful,” Tucker cautioned, reaching out a hand to steady her.

  He kept his grip on her elbow as they inched down the stairway. When they arrived at the courtyard, July dropped his hand and moved away from him.

  Their boots crunched in the ankle-deep snow. They rounded the corner and walked through the parking lot.

  The world had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Cars sat like mute hulking creatures waiting patiently for spring. Overhead, the sky was heavy with gray clouds. Ice turned tree branches into glazed fingers that clicked eerily in the wind.

  Their breath chugged out in white puffs as they traveled through the snow. Silence greeted their ears. The air was moist, harsh, unwelcoming.

  He smiled at her. She studied him with serious eyes but did not smile back.

  Something was definitely going on with July. This gloominess was atypical. Like a little boy trying to coax his mother into a good mood, Tucker started walking backward and gifted her with the biggest smile he could muster.

  “Look.” He pointed to a hill behind her apartment complex. “That’s not a sight you often see in Texas.”

  A group of children had gathered, wearing brightly colored coats and mittens. They were sliding down the hill on makeshift sleds. Some used cardboard, others, pieces of plywood. One inventive small child was streaking down the hill in a large wok.

  “I always loved snow days when I was a kid,” July said. “I remember mugs of hot chocolate with those tiny marshmallows and hours spent by the fire playing cards or piecing together jigsaw puzzles. My sisters and I used to make snow angels and have the fiercest snowball fights.”

  “Sounds like nice memories,” he said.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Got any favorite snowy day memories?”

  “Not really,” he said. “I try to forget my childhood.”

  “Was it that bad?” July reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Worse.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Darn. Now he was stuck. He longed to win back her smile, but the last thing he wanted was to relive the horrors of his childhood. What he needed was a distraction. Impulsively, he leaned down and scooped snow into his glove.