Claire cried out as she watched Brent go down. Her gaze had been avidly fixed on the closed-circuit monitor in the van throughout the operation, and while she’d sensed the mounting tension in the factory, she hadn’t been prepared for Forrester’s decision to bolt or the terror that struck her heart when Brent was shot.

Everything had happened so fast. She wasn’t even sure who had pulled the trigger or how many bullets had been fired in the warehouse. The only thing that mattered to her was that Brent had been hit.

Her stomach churned and bile burned her throat, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the horrifying image on the monitor. Brent lay on the factory’s concrete floor, possibly dying, and she was trapped in this van, too far away to do anything. She couldn’t hold him in her arms or look into his eyes or tell him she loved him.

Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, no. No way could she have fallen in love with Brent. She knew better. At least the logical part of her did.

No, she wasn’t in love with him. She was just shaken up by what she’d seen, and yes, worried about him. He’d saved her life twice. Now he could be dying, his blood—

Her heart skipped another beat as she squinted at the monitor. In the back of her mind she was sure she hadn’t seen any blood, but the other agents were crowded around Brent, obscuring her view.

“Claire.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, making her start.

“Brent’s going to be fine,” Gene said, searching her eyes.

“How do you know? He’s not moving.”

“He’s wearing a Kevlar vest under his jacket.”

“What?” The words took a moment to penetrate her fear.

“It’s standard gear in this kind of operation.”

“But he went down so hard—”

“The force of the bullet.”

Gene’s gaze shifted away from hers, and his next words indicated he was listening to a report over his earpiece. “Ian says Brent’s going to have a beauty of a bruise, that’s all.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re sure he’s all right?”

Gene nodded. “I took a bullet that way about two years ago, and while it’s not fun, it sure as hell beats the alternative.”

“No kidding,” she said wryly.

She glanced back at the monitor in time to see one of the other agents help Brent to his feet. He turned to look at something behind him.

At first, she saw only a pool of dark liquid. Blood, she realized, and felt her stomach churning again. It was apparent from the size of the pool that someone had taken a bullet somewhere the vest didn’t protect. Either that, or someone had failed to wear one at all.

When Brent moved aside, she saw that it was Forrester who lay motionless on the concrete floor.

And she knew from his open, unseeing eyes that he would never threaten her—or anybody else—again.

 

BRENT HAD IMAGINED dozens of scenarios in which Forrester was captured, but he’d always expected the bastard to go to prison, not wind up dead. Not that he was sorry. Forrester was a cold-blooded murderer who had ended the lives of men better than himself. If he hadn’t died, he would have retained a clever lawyer and challenged every piece of evidence against him. Now that wouldn’t happen. Now there was no chance Forrester would get away with his crimes.

So why wasn’t he satisfied with tonight’s outcome?

He glanced at Claire, who was driving the Mustang, then back at the winding road. A recent rain had washed away most of the gravel, making the last few miles of the ride uncomfortably bumpy. The jarring motion aggravated the bruise on his chest, and he was glad there wasn’t much farther to go.

It was almost midnight when he and Claire reached the cabin, but neither of them was in any mood to sleep. They settled themselves on the couch in the living room.

“Forrester was completely surrounded,” Claire said suddenly. “Why would he think he could escape?”

Brent had been wondering the same thing. Because as much as he couldn’t regret Forrester’s death, he didn’t fully understand the circumstances surrounding it. “Maybe he just flipped out. I’ve seen it go down that way before. A guy suddenly realizes it’s the end of the line for him, and he can’t cope.”

She shivered. “And you got caught in the crossfire.”

“It happens.” That didn’t mean he hadn’t felt a moment of stark terror when the bullets started flying and he was hit.

“I didn’t even see who fired,” she admitted.

“McKenna and Metzger both did.”

“Who hit you?”

“McKenna claimed it was him, but he could be covering for Metzger, who’s only been with the Bureau for a short time. Their guns have been collected, and Ballistics will determine the owner of the bullet that hit me and the ones that killed Forrester.”

During the mandatory investigation that followed the discharge of an agent’s weapon, both McKenna and Metzger would be called upon to defend their decisions to use deadly force.

“If Forrester had given up his weapon when I first ordered him to,” Brent said, “he’d still be alive tonight.”

“He must have known it was dangerous to hang on to it.”

“Maybe it’s a case of ‘suicide by cop.’”

“You think he wanted to die? Why?”

“I’m guessing he couldn’t stand the thought of going to prison.”

If he was right, Forrester had executed one last selfish act before his death. Agents who killed in the line of duty often suffered from guilt. McKenna was a seasoned agent with years of experience, but Metzger wasn’t. How would Metzger cope, especially if the investigation concluded that Forrester had meant no harm to anyone but himself?

Brent immediately thought of Claire. Her job was to support agents through such difficult times. That’s what she’d been trying to do with him. Yet he’d rejected her every effort.

That was going to change, starting now.

“Tonight didn’t turn out the way I expected at all,” he said, “and not just because I was shot and Forrester died. I thought apprehending Pete’s killer would make me feel triumphant or at least satisfied that he hadn’t gotten away with murder.”

“How do you feel?”

He scrubbed at an ink spot on his jeans. “Disappointed, cheated somehow.” He glanced over at her. “Does that make sense?”

She nodded. “For the past week, you’ve been concentrating so hard on capturing Forrester that I think you may have lost sight of something.”

At his quizzical look, she smiled sadly. “Punishing him won’t bring back Pete.”

He felt his throat burn. She was right. Vengeance wasn’t as sweet as people said. The pain didn’t magically disappear or even lessen. But talking relieved some of the pressure.

“The day I met Pete was the luckiest one of my life. Not just because he had my back when I was new and inexperienced, but because he came to be my best friend.”

“It’s wonderful you two had such a close relationship.”

“Some days we’d shoot hoops at his house, whooping and hollering like lunatics. Other days we’d fish in the lake, enjoying the silence and solitude.” He struggled for control for a long moment, before continuing in an unsteady voice. “He was more than my best friend. He was the father I never had.”

“I’m so sorry, Brent.” She shifted closer and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure I can accept him being gone yet.” He closed his eyes, rested his head on the back of the couch.

“There’s no timetable for grief,” she said. “You can’t rush it, you just have to deal with it when you’re ready.”

Her words sounded wise, but right now he was content just listening to her voice. It reminded him of a summer breeze, soft and relaxing. He felt himself unwind for the first time since the beginning of the stakeout for Forrester.

“It took me six months to accept my dad was lost to me,” she said unexpectedly. “I kept telling myself he was on assignment and would show up in the kitchen and ask me to bake tiger brownies for him.”

Brent opened his eyes and waited, hoping she would continue.

After a moment, she did. “I couldn’t deal with the way he’d died. And I was angry and upset about the note he left for me.” She stopped, bit her lip.

Brent looped his arm over her and drew her against his side. “Tell me about it,” he murmured.

“I’ve never told anyone,” she admitted softly. “Not even my mom.”

He remained silent, letting her decide.

She inhaled deeply, then expelled the breath in a sigh. “He wrote that every time he looked at me, he remembered that little girl—the one who had died during the airline hostage rescue. Her family had been deprived of seeing her grow up, attend college, get married. And although he loved me and wanted the best for me, it was impossible for him to watch me enjoy those experiences.” Her lips trembled, but she kept on doggedly. “He took his life because he couldn’t stop obsessing about somebody else’s daughter.”

Brent held her closer, incredulous that a father could be so lost in despair, he wouldn’t realize the agony his suicide would inflict on his child.

“He needed help,” she said, “and he didn’t get it. I couldn’t let the same thing happen to another agent, another family.”

Brent brushed her hair back from her eyes. “He’d be proud of you, Claire.”

“I like to think so.”

“How could he not be?” he said quietly. “You’re sensitive and caring. You try to help people. You’ve helped me despite my making it difficult for you.”

If someone had told him ten days ago that he would be having this conversation with a woman—especially one who was a psychologist—he’d have scoffed. But a lot had happened in the interval, and the best part was Claire.

“Your patients are lucky to have your special insight.”

She looked away and traced the edge of the couch with her fingertips. “You really think that I can make a difference?”

“I know it.”

The tentative smile that curved her lips gave him hope that she might stay.

 

CLAIRE HUGGED her arms to her body.

Brent had finally let down his barriers. He had shared his grief and loneliness over Pete’s death with her. And his openness had, in turn, made it possible for her to reveal things about her father’s suicide that she’d never told anyone before. She felt purged, released, and closer to Brent than she’d ever imagined.

She didn’t realize she was crying until he reached over and brushed a tear from her cheek. It was a gentle, fleeting touch. Yet somehow the brief contact charged the space between them. She met his gaze. His eyes reflected the same desire that she felt. For days, she’d been telling herself that physical intimacy with Brent would be a mistake because they weren’t emotionally close. But their relationship had undergone a transformation. Honesty had forged a unique rapport, drawing them together, leading them relentlessly to this moment when the attraction between them needn’t be denied any longer.

Having already shared pain, they deserved to share pleasure, too. And she couldn’t imagine a pleasure more intense, more joyful, than making love with Brent. This time, there would be no denying impulses, no stopping in the midst of passion.

With hungry eagerness, she pressed her lips to his throat…his jaw…his mouth….

 

BRENT DREW AN UNSTEADY breath, confused—and aroused—by the blatant sexuality in Claire’s kisses. He was hanging on to control by a rapidly fraying rope. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Sure, it is.” She ran her hands up his shirt front, immediately pulling away when he sucked in a sharp breath. “What’s wrong?”

He’d wanted her hands on him for so long. Now that she apparently wanted the same thing, he was frustrated that her touch had made him flinch. “I’m just a little sore where the bullet hit,” he told her.

“I was terrified when I saw you fall,” she admitted, as she unfastened the buttons on his shirt.

Pushing the fabric aside, she gasped at the starburst of red and blue and purple that marked his skin. He wondered if she was repulsed by the sight of his bruise, but then she tipped her head and kissed his chest.

Her lips whispered gently over the tender skin, tracing the outline of the bruise.

“What—” He swallowed as her mouth cruised lightly over his nipple. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing it better.” She glanced up at him, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Is it working?”

“Yeah. I…think it is.”

Her smile widened. “Good.”

Her mouth moved against his skin, tracing his collarbone, skimming up his neck until her lips brushed against his.

“Nothing’s changed since last time we kissed,” he said thickly.

She pushed his shirt over his shoulders. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

No. No, he didn’t. He had bared his soul to Claire tonight and had no regrets about it. His only regret was that she had plans to leave town.

But maybe those plans weren’t definite. Maybe she was still mulling over her options. Why else would she be willing to make love with him? She wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of woman. Her actions suggested that she, too, wanted to give their relationship a chance.

Then again, coherent thought was next to impossible when she was touching him.

She smiled as if she understood. “One thing that’s changed is my mind.”

“Woman’s prerogative?”

She tossed her blond head. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

He studied her. “You are a gift. A beautiful, sexy gift—”

“—who’s waiting to be unwrapped,” she finished boldly.

His mouth turned dry as chalk. “Are you sure?”

It was his last attempt to resist her—although he could no longer remember why he had ever believed he should.

“I’m absolutely sure.” She stroked her fingertips down his arm. “Unless your injury—”

“What injury?”

She gave him another dazzling smile, a wordless reassurance that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He kissed her, deep ravenous kisses that left them both panting for more. Their tongues collided. Their teeth nipped at each other. Their tastes mingled to become one.

Eventually, with her eyes encouraging him, he reached for the hem of her blouse. He eased it over her head, then undid her bra and freed her lovely breasts. Her nipples were just as sensitive as he remembered. They hardened immediately, stimulated by his admiring gaze. He bent his head so he could suckle her, his tongue swirling over one peak, then the other.

She gasped, her blond hair tickling his wrists. He pressed his lips under her left breast, where he could feel her heart beating fast. He wanted to drive her wild. Make her burn for him. As he burned for her.

He shifted position until she was lying on top of him. As he threaded his fingers through her luxurious, thick hair, he marveled at how beautiful, how desirable she was. How had he ever managed not to touch her?

The mating of their mouths made him hunger for a more intimate coupling, but he wasn’t about to rush her. She would let him know when she was ready.

After a moment, she eased into a kneeling position astride him. Bracing her hands on his biceps, she moved her pelvis provocatively against him. He felt himself grow harder. He was tempted to crush her to him, but he resisted to savor every delicious sensation. He traced the features of her lovely, flushed face. She parted her lips and sighed his name. He caressed her neck, her shoulders, her beautiful breasts. She slipped her hand under the waistband of his jeans.

He caught his breath. Felt her touch him through the cotton of his BVDs. Anticipation was an exquisite torment—one he wasn’t sure he could endure for very long. He breathed in the fragrance of her skin, her hair. She was an erotic dream come true. Her soft, sweet mouth made him ache. Her seeking hand drove him mad. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman so desperately. When her fingers closed over him, he felt as if he were going to explode.

Gritting his teeth, he fought for control. No good. He’d yearned for her too long. With a groan, he pulled her to him and rolled until they lay on their sides.

“Hey,” she said.

“Protection,” he panted, reaching for his wallet.

She tugged down his zipper. “Looking out for me yet again,” she murmured.

He kicked off his jeans and underwear, while she did the same, then he quickly covered himself with the condom. He rolled back on top of her, exhaling deeply as their legs tangled together. Damn, she felt good. So good. So right.

She urged him closer. Her mouth nibbled a wet path along his shoulder, her fingers gripped his back fiercely as she whispered passionate entreaties against his skin. “Please…I can’t…wait…anymore.”

“Look at me,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes. They were dark with desire, clouded with passion.

“I want to see you,” he said. “And I want to know you see me.”

She smiled. “I want you inside me.”

It was what he wanted, too, more than anything. He entered her slowly, prolonging the moment, heightening the pleasure for both of them. Then he began to move, responding to her excited breathing and caresses.

She twisted under him as he alternated shallow, controlled thrusts with deeper, wilder ones. She squeezed his buttocks and rubbed her breasts wantonly against his chest. Her uninhibited responses quickly shattered his rhythm—and his willpower. He didn’t want this union to end, but the need for release became overwhelming.

She seemed to share his sense of urgency. “Now,” she gasped, lifting her hips off the couch.

“Now,” he breathed, plunging into her fully.

Her body went rigid. A heartbeat later, tremors convulsed her, and her inner muscles contracted around him. She expelled her breath in a deep, satisfied moan. The sound resonated inside him, and his control snapped. As his climax hit hard and fast, a shout escaped him. Then he collapsed on top of her.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a screamer,” she said a moment later, but her voice held no censure, just a purring contentment.

“I’m not,” he mumbled.

“So what happened?” She rubbed her toes along his leg.

He cracked open one eye. “You.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended as one.”

She pressed her lips to his shoulder. He didn’t want her to let him go. Not now. Not in an hour. Not anytime in the foreseeable future. His heart skipped a beat at the disconcerting thought. It wasn’t his way to think long term. Life was too uncertain. Situations tended to be fluid, and he had learned to go with the flow.

But Claire wasn’t comfortable with uncertainty. She liked to know what to expect next, liked to make plans. She had made a plan to leave the Bureau.

Tonight had proved their relationship deserved more time. Claire was the first woman he’d felt sexually and emotionally compatible with, and he wasn’t about to be cheated out of her company because she was having second thoughts about her career.

Tomorrow, he’d convince her to make a new plan that included him.