Keep Her Safe(112)

However I imagined Gracie might feel—against her, inside her?

I was wrong.

She felt a thousand times better.

Just thinking about it now . . . I’m instantly hard.

I roll onto my side to fit snugly against her back, her bare skin silky and warm and so inviting. “You shouldn’t have stayed up so late, then.” I burrow my face into the back of her neck to kiss her, her wild, soft curls tickling my cheek. The smell of her skin is intoxicating to me.

“You wouldn’t stop bothering me.”

“Is that what you call it?” With a swift tug, I yank the sheet away from her tight grip, sliding it down to expose her. “Am I bothering you now?”

“Very much. You’re a menace.”

Pushing against her shoulder gently until she rolls onto her back, toward me, I take in those beautiful breasts, visible in the morning light. “A menace?”

Her lips twitch as she hides her smile.

But she’s unable to stifle the soft gasp as I lean down to take a peaked nipple into my mouth. I grin as gooseflesh erupts over her skin.

The shrill sound of my phone ringing cuts into the moment. “I’m ignoring that.”

“It could be Kristian.”

“Then I’m definitely ignoring that.” Bastard probably knew what he was about to interrupt as he was dialing.

She climbs over me to check the screen on my phone. “It’s your uncle.”

“I’ll call him later.”

“It could be about my dad’s case.”

“I’ll call him back in ten.” I doubt I’ll need even half that long.

She grabs the phone and, hitting the answer button, shoves it against my ear.

His voice, full of energy, is too much for me this morning. “You’ve learned how to answer your phone again.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. I can’t even manage a “yes, sir.”

“No issues last night, I assume?”

“None.”

“Good. Canning wants you and Gracie to pay him a visit today.”

I’m instantly wary. “For what?”

“What do you mean, for what? To talk about Abe’s case.”

“I’m not sure if—”

“If Gracie wants any hope of bringing Mantis to justice, believe me, George is the best ally you could ask for. He’s expecting you for an early lunch. Eleven o’clock.”

I glance at the clock. “Where does he live again?”

“McDade. I’ll send you the address. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.” I hang up with a groan.

“Where are we going?” Gracie asks, still draped over me, her green eyes flaring with excitement as she gazes down at me.

“Canning invited us out for lunch.” Invited may not be the right word. “He wants to talk about your dad’s case.”

Instant suspicion fills Gracie’s gaze. She hesitates. “Kristian thinks Canning might be involved in this cover-up.”

“Kristian thinks the stray cat six doors down might be involved,” I mutter, though I shouldn’t be surprised by the agent’s suspicion. I wondered the same thing. “When did he tell you that?”

“Last night.” Her fingertips skate over my chest, outlining my muscles. “I want to meet Canning. See what he has to say. Then I can decide for myself.”

“If Klein thinks Canning is involved, then we shouldn’t be going out there.”

“We have to. If we don’t, he’ll be suspicious. He can’t know that Kristian suspects him.”

I sigh. She’s right. Still, if that’s the case, then bringing Gracie out there to meet him is probably a bad idea. “He’s going to see through you in five seconds flat.”

“What are you implying?”

I give her a pointed look, only to earn a scathing glare in return. “Maybe you should call Klein, then, and let him know.” Let him tell her it’s a bad idea and earn her wrath.

“So he can tell us to not go?” She scoffs.

Exactly.

“So . . . when are we leaving?”

I sigh. “Within the hour.”

“I need to shower.” She peels herself off me. “Come on, get up.”

“I am up.” I chuckle.

Gracie peers over her shoulder at me, her intense gaze trailing the length of my body, studying me like a cat studies its prized mouse. She bites her bottom lip and I swell in response.

I don’t think she expects me to move as fast as I do, because she lets out a playful squeal as I reach for her, flipping her onto her back, and fit my body to settle between her thighs.



* * *



“How much does a police chief make, anyway?” Gracie mutters, staring up at the impressive gateway that we pass underneath; stone pillars hold up an ironwork archway with a metal sign that reads “Three Lakes Ranch.”

“Not this much.” We coast up the winding path, in awe of the sprawling two-story rectangular house ahead of us, an inviting row of blue rocking chairs set out on the porch to overlook the lake in front. Beyond the house and to the left is a barn designed to match the house. Horses graze off to the side.

“Do you trust Canning?”