Stealing Her Heart, page 11
part #1 of Wild Hearts Series
Hobson’s beleaguered public defender entered the room. He kept his head down and opened his briefcase so that most of his face was hidden.
“Come on, let’s get this over with. I’m starved and these bastards aren’t going to feed me until I sign on the dotted line.” Hobson was irritated, but it was the first time in a number of days that he felt he could relax. The deal was in place, he was in DEA custody and for once there wasn’t a myriad of cameras and recording devices pointed at him.
“No need to worry about food.”
Before Hobson’s brain could process that the voice he heard was not that of his attorney, the man came across the desk and jabbed a needle into his neck. Hobson could feel liquid fire spreading through his system. His brain shut down all bodily functions before he could make a sound.
Etta needed a break. She got up from the chair and stretched. Her body ached in the most delicious way from Brody’s attentions. She found that not only did he like to reach for her during the night, but that he responded well when she reached for him or in any way indicated she would be receptive to his lovemaking. Brody was nothing if not a virile, demanding, and thorough lover. Her nether parts were becoming more and more used to being used on a very regular and frequent basis.
Etta entertained herself by wandering through Brody’s home. It was in great structural condition, but it hadn’t been redecorated in many, many years. She suspected he hadn’t done anything but maintain it since his parents had passed some twenty or so years before.
Good thing for him I’ll be around to bring it up-to-date.
She picked up his parents’ wedding pictures and noted where Brody had received his good looks. His mother had been a beauty and his father had the same tall, dark, rugged, handsome look of his son. The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree in his family.
As Etta settled into a life with Brody, she began to make herself comfortable and make his place become their home. Her aunt and uncle had become very fond of Brody and her aunt teased her that she was becoming downright domestic. It wasn’t difficult, given her restriction to the house. Brody had come home more than one evening to find something re-arranged or reorganized.
Etta had been a bit concerned the first time, worrying that he’d feel like she was overstepping. He’d kissed her and told her as long as she followed the rules, she could step anyway and anywhere she wanted. Particularly in their home. When she’d asked him about design styles, he’d laughed and told her as long as the house had her, a bed, and a shower, he was a happy man.
One day he’d come home to a completely cleaned out and reorganized fridge and pantry. He had to admit that some of the things she’d removed from the fridge looked like science experiments. She’d given him a long list of staples and other things needed. She had wondered how he would react when some of the things on the list were of a decidedly feminine nature, including some better smelling body wash and a new toothbrush. He hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow and in fact had pulled her close and kissed her with great tenderness. He’d promised to pick them up and had done so. He never mentioned how much he liked seeing her new toothbrush next to his, but she caught him smiling at them more than once.
Brody had also arranged for the DEA agent to meet with Etta at the house. Bringing the agent into the house, he’d seemed more than pleased than she’d thought he might have been when the smell of freshly baked muffins and coffee were waiting. Etta had become quite comfortable with her roles as both potential witness and significant other to Brody. The relationship between the two had not gone unnoticed by the DEA agent, who had again offered to put Etta into federal custody.
Brody assured the federal agent that Etta’s safety was of the utmost importance to him and that he would ensure she’d be available for further questioning and as a witness. The DEA agent had accepted Brody’s assurances. He had then begun questioning Etta about what she remembered about the three men she had wounded. The DEA had been able to track them to a small hospital just across the border. It was arranged for a sketch artist to come to the house to meet with Etta in the next few days.
Etta’s cell phone rang with the distinctive ringtone she’d downloaded for Brody. She’d had a great giggle at his expense as she downloaded it and had laughed out loud when she’d played it for him. He’d shaken his finger at her and warned her about skating on thin ice. She’d responded by launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately.
“Hello, lover. How’s it hanging?”
“It’s a good thing I know that I have a distinctive ring tone assigned to me, or I’d be wondering if you answered the phone that way to any Tom, Dick or Harry who was calling.”
“No, generally I only use that greeting for men with great dicks.”
“Shit, Etta. It’s a good thing I don’t have you on speaker.”
“Why don’t you want people to know I think you have a great dick?”
Brody laughed. “You’re incorrigible, Don’t ever change. I need you to settle down. I just heard from the DEA and their sketch artist should be out there sometime today. I’ll give you a call when he’s about thirty minutes out and I’ll arrange to be there as well.”
“Jesus, Brody. I can handle a DEA sketch artist. There’s no need for you to drive home unless you have some nefarious reason to want to be here after he’s gone?”
“You’ve had worse ideas.” He laughed.
“I know, but you love me.”
“That I do. Look, Etta, you need to know, Hobson was killed.”
“What happened? I thought he was in protective custody.” She was trying desperately to keep the concern from her voice.
“He was, but he’d been brought in for a brief visit with his attorney to sign the paperwork for his deal. The same attorney who ended up being ambulanced to a hospital and admitted with a concussion. The guy was mugged on his way to the meeting. The working theory is the killer wanted him out of the way so he could pose as him and get to Hobson.”
“Oh, the poor man.”
“My point is… we still need to use caution. This isn’t over. I’ve never met this sketch artist, so don’t go opening the door to just anyone. I’ll message you his ID, but I should be home by the time he gets there. Don’t open the door to anyone but me or the individual pictured on the ID.”
“Okay. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. What will happen now?”
“We hope with the pipeline shut down that they’ll have to regroup, and we’ll have a better chance at catching them. You’re still grounded until I give you the all-clear.”
Trying to lighten his mood, Etta said “I’m beginning to think you made all of this up just so you could hold me in protective custody while you repeatedly pillage my body night after night.”
Brody laughed. “Well, there is that. I guess you found me out. I’ve put the DEA, the Texas Rangers and a whole other group of alphabet organizations on high alert just so I can fuck you repeatedly, all the while enjoying your multi-orgasmic capabilities and all the sexy noises you make when I make you come. And then there’s all that pleading.”
“Jackass!” And he had the audacity to say she was incorrigible? “I’m hanging up on you now, Brody. Your crude references have despoiled my sweet southern belle ears.”
“Just make sure those sweet southern belle ears remind that Texas cowgirl ass that it had best do as it’s told. Love you, too.”
Etta went back to her laptop and began working on a large, charitable fundraiser for one of her clients. She became engrossed in what she was doing and only marginally acknowledged that Brody’s promised text had been sent.
The knock on the side door startled her but looking up to see a man in a DEA jacket and baseball cap reassured her. Obviously, Brody had either become caught up in his work, forgotten to make the call home or the DEA agent had made better time than expected. She opened the door. “Good afternoon, Agent…”
“Johnson, ma’am. Jeremiah Johnson. I’m the sketch artist.” Etta thought they must be getting their agents right out of grade school. She figured the young man couldn’t be older than in his early twenties.
“Come on in. I suspect Brody will be on his way. I’ll give him a call to let him know you’re here.”
Brad stuck his head in Brody’s office. The worried look on his face immediately dispelled Brody’s good mood. “What?”
“The DEA sketch artist was just found dead on the side of the road. His car, baseball cap and jacket were taken. And Brody, he had your address in his vehicle.”
Brody and Brad ran through the office, shouting orders to get any Ranger in close proximity to Brody’s house now and to get the Del Rio police department to send units.
He had to move. He had to get to Etta.
Etta heard the deadbolt lock behind Agent Johnson. What she didn’t hear was the man pulling a gun with a silencer from under his coat as Etta reached for her phone. “There won’t be any need to call the Ranger, ma’am.”
Etta turned and her eyes grew wide with fear at the sight of the young man now pointing a gun at her with deadly intent. “Look, I don’t know anything,” she said.
“Then why have a sketch artist?”
“Because they’re hoping I can remember something about the men I shot when I crossed Hobson’s path a couple of months back. But I can’t. I know for a fact you weren’t one of them.”
“If you know that, then you probably know too much. Do you want to see the bullet coming, or would you prefer to kneel, and I’ll put it through the back of your brain? Most people ...”
The killer didn’t get to finish and was startled when Etta’s phone began to bray like a jackass. Using the distraction to her advantage, Etta grabbed a kitchen knife and threw it with some accuracy, burying it in the killer’s arm and causing him to momentarily drop the gun.
A moment was all she needed. Etta sprinted out of the kitchen and through the dining and front rooms to Brody’s study on the far side of the front of the house. She knew, from earlier explorations, there were several guns in there. Some in locked cases and one or two in desk drawers. She prayed she’d given herself enough of a head start to reach one of them and prayed even harder that it would be loaded.
She could hear the killer in hot pursuit, and he managed to get off a shot that was wide as she darted into the office, closing and locking the doors behind her. She wedged a chair under the handles of the double doors and dove under the desk. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but she knew she had to try. If he expected her to simply offer up her life, the killer knew nothing about her.
She could hear him closing in on her position. She thought about trying to use the office phone, but figured she was better to get to a loaded gun than to call for help that might not arrive in time. She located a shotgun and two shells. She was quickly loading it when the rattling of the door handles startled her. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
“Damn you. I was going to try and make this as easy and painless as possible. But by making my job more difficult, I think I’ll just fatally wound you and leave you to die.”
Etta heard the spit of the killer’s silenced gun as he shot the lock out of the door. It wouldn’t take him long to work the chair out from under the knobs. She loaded the shells and hoped that two shots would be enough. Etta unloaded one barrel dead center of the doors and heard the killer yelp again. At that point, flashing lights rolling up outside the perimeter fence caught her eye just as she heard the front door come crashing in. A couple of more spits of sound and one loud shot registered with Etta before she heard Brody call her name.
Etta ran to the ruined doors, flung the chair out of the way, and opened them. “Oh, God, Brody ...” She threw herself into his arms and felt as though nothing had ever felt better or safer than his returning embrace.
“Christ, Etta, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but I’m afraid those doors will never be the same.”
He separated from her so he could see her face and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed to see her grinning at him. “You think I care about some old, funky doors?”
Etta’s face registered a look of mock horror. “Those are original to this house. They’re worth a fortune and I’ve ruined them.” Brody recognized that the adrenaline was wearing off and the enormity of what had just gone on was starting to seep in.
Gently he took the shotgun from her hands and handed it back to Brad, who had followed him through the front door. He holstered his own gun and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. It’s over.”
Brody took Etta away from the front of the house and started down the hall to their bedroom. Etta clung to him. “No, I want to be where you are.”
He could see she was badly rattled and so he settled her in the kitchen and directed the cleanup and evidence gathering from there. It took a bit more than an hour, but they were wrapping up their work when Brad picked up the bloody knife and put it in an evidence bag. He tossed them a teasing look. “Seriously, boss, you get her pissed and then close your eyes? You’re a far braver man than I am.”
Etta glanced between them and decided she didn’t want to know just how much Brad knew. “Seriously, Brad, Brody has some dangly parts I’m rather fond of. Yours? Not so much.”
The look of surprise on his face indicated Brad was having trouble believing Etta was able to trade quips with him so quickly. Brody knew Brad had made the joke to try to get at least one of them to laugh, but had expected an admonishment from Brody, not a smart-ass remark from Etta.
Brad grinned. He had no idea what a spitfire Etta could be and how much Brody enjoyed dealing with her. He knew he was going to have his hands full with her regardless of how much she liked his dangly parts.
Brody squeezed her shoulder and said, “Quit picking on Brad, and I don’t want you thinking about his dangly parts. The only guy’s dangly parts you need to be thinking of are mine.”
She nuzzled his neck and purred. “Yes, Sir.” Brody was glad they were wrapping up as he could tell the adrenaline rush had worn off, the fear had dissipated and now Etta’s mind and body were looking for an emotional release.
He knew just exactly what release she was looking for. They didn’t call it blood lust for nothing.
Chapter 14
The Rangers and other law enforcement types had gone.
The front doors had been put back on their hinges and secured until they could be repaired. Brody could tell Etta was exhausted by the ordeal. He’d sent her down the hall to their bedroom and told her to just lie down and rest. When she resisted, he turned her towards the bedroom and gave her backside a swat.
“Do what I say, Etta.” She’d gone but hadn’t been happy about it. He thought he heard her mumble something about dangly parts but decided he’d take it up with her later.
He phoned her aunt and uncle and brought them up-to-speed. Etta had tried to dissuade him from telling them anything. Brody had pointed out that they’d be lucky if Paul and Jo hadn’t heard already. Her aunt and uncle were understandably concerned, but Brody had been able to reassure them that all was well and that he would look after their niece. Jo invited them to Sunday supper and Brody gladly accepted. It had been a long time since he’d had family with whom to share supper on an autumn afternoon.
Ending the call, Brody gathered up Etta’s cell phone to take it to their bedroom. Part of him hoped she’d be fast asleep, but the other half was hoping to use his so-called dangly parts to show Etta a better way to recover from her frightening ordeal.
Looking at her phone, he noticed there was a message alert that she hadn’t read. He opened the message and saw it was the text he’d sent her with the sketch artist’s picture ID. So that was why she’d opened the door to the fake DEA guy. Etta hadn’t bothered to even open his text. The would-be assassin had a DEA jacket and ball cap, proof enough for her that he was legit.
He entered the door and found her resting on the bed hugging his pillow. He tossed her phone to her. She looked from the phone to him with a confused expression. “What?” she asked.
“First, your aunt and uncle send their love. Second, we’re expected for Sunday supper. And third, want to explain to me why you didn’t bother to open my text with the sketch artist’s picture before you opened the door to a killer?”
She scrambled off the bed to the other side, putting it between them. “You’re not thinking that if I hadn’t opened the door to him, it would have stopped him, are you?”
“I’m thinking that if you’d done what you were told, you would have known he wasn’t someone I’d sent here and might have had more time to get away from him.”
“You cannot possibly be wanting to hold me responsible for what happened.” Her own sense of indignation and anger were starting to build.
“It’s hard to deny that your refusal to do as I asked contributed to the ease with which the killer gained access to our home allowing him to come very close to carrying out his task.”
“But nothing happened,” she countered.
Brody crooked his eyebrow at her.
“All right, I mean I know something happened but I’m fine, you’re fine, and I’m hopeful we can have the doors restored.”
Brody shook his head. “Here’s the bottom line: did I or did I not tell you to expect a text from me with the agent’s ID picture?” He waited while she looked at him blankly. “Simple question, sweetheart. Only requires a yes or no answer. Didn’t I tell you to expect that text?”
Etta raised her chin in a show of defiance and said, “Yes.”
Brody smiled. God, how he loved her spirit. “Yes, what?”
Concern flashed across Etta’s face. He was using a tone of voice he only used when he was pissed at her.
