The Rookie: A Romantic Suspense Standalone (The Intelligence Unit Book 1) Page 6

  Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he said, “It’s no big deal,” but oh, no. Tara wasn’t about to let him slide.

  “Could you please say ‘you’re welcome’ so I don’t have to keep pushing?” She wrapped just enough humor around the words to lighten them. “I’ve been in court all day and I’d love the breather.”

  Bingo. “You’re welcome,” Xander said with a smile that—whoa—made her want to blush. “So, how was court, by the way? I heard the meeting with the judge the other day was a bust.”

  Just like that, Tara’s good humor faded. “It was what I thought it would be—Sansone’s lawyer saying the assault had nothing to do with his client, Sansone providing an alibi, and Judge Waters asking me if I had any evidence linking Sansone to the assault, which I don’t. Yet,” she added. “But at least now the assault—and my suspicion that Sansone is involved—are both on record. And Judge Waters did agree that keeping Amour’s identity hidden was a reasonable precaution. She also warned that if he is involved, she won’t hesitate to revoke his bail, let my office add to the charges against him, and have him await trial from a prison cell.”

  “Do you think that will make him more cautious?” Xander asked, but Tara shook her head.

  “I think he’s got stones the size of Neptune. He knows our case against him hinges on Amour’s testimony and he thinks he can scare her into silence because he’s a bully. Even if he’s backed into a corner, the only thing he’ll get is meaner.” Tara placed her hands on her hips, her fingers knotting over her navy blue pencil skirt. “But that’s fine, because I’ll be right here waiting for him when he does.”

  “You’re pretty protective of Amour.”

  The thought of what could have been—what had been all those years ago—jabbed at her throat, making her heart pound faster and the words pour right out of her mouth. “I’m pretty protective of justice being done. Guys like Sansone hurt innocent people. People with families and friends and their whole lives ahead of them. But just like that”—she snapped—“all of that disappears. He wants to kill her, Xander, and he’s killed who knows how many others. I won’t let him get away with that.”

  For a minute that felt like an hour, or, hell, maybe a month, he looked at her with those wide green eyes that she couldn’t read for the life of her. Then, he finally said, “That sounds like a story.”

  The ball was firmly in her court, Tara knew. She could tell him she was just passionate about her job, which was, oh, by the way, what she’d told everyone who’d ever made the same sort of observation. That’s what she should do. Telling tough, strong Xander Matthews her story would only make her vulnerable.

  So she really had no idea why, when she opened her mouth, the truth started tumbling out.

  “When I was nineteen, my best friend, Lucas, and I decided to take a road trip for spring break. It was totally spur of the moment, but he was always coming up with crazy ideas like that.”

  “Best friend, not boyfriend?” Xander asked, walking to his kitchen like nothing-doing, and Tara followed.

  “Yes. His family lived on the same street as mine and his dad and my mom worked for the same medical practice, so we pretty much grew up together. I’m an only child and Lucas was like a brother to me. I know it might sound weird, but I loved having someone who I could be that close with. Someone I could really confide in. He was always there, even on my ugly days. No matter what.”

  Opening the fridge, Xander slid two bottles of water off the shelf and passed one over to her wordlessly. “I’m tight with my sister. I get it.”

  Tara nodded. She remembered his sister, Kennedy, from the case against him that had eventually been dismissed. “Lucas and I both went to Remington University. He was pre-med. He wanted to be a plastic surgeon so he could help kids born with cleft palates and people who’d been hurt in accidents. It was so Lucas—he was just that kind of guy.”

  “What about you?” Xander led the way to the main living space, his movements as easy as the conversation as he sat down next to her on the couch.

  “I was hopelessly undecided,” Tara confessed. “My parents wanted me to choose something so I could ‘have a career path’. But I was barely nineteen, and I didn’t want to choose something for the sake of being able to check a box. I wanted it to be important. Right.”

  Xander was silent for a minute, his dark brows drawn in a way that told Tara he was processing her words. “That seems smart. I mean, college is expensive. Why waste all that money on something you’re not sure of?”

  “Or time,” Tara said. It had been, as it turned out, the more precious commodity, one that had slipped right through her fingers as uncontrollably as Lucas’s blood that night. God, there had been so much blood. Years later, and the dirty, metallic smell of it could still punch her in the back of the throat without warning.

  Steeling herself against the tremble that wanted to commandeer her limbs, Tara continued, “Anyway, we’d had a pretty grueling week of midterms that second semester, so Lucas came up with this crazy idea to drive to Miami for spring break. We threw a bunch of clothes in a suitcase and left less than twenty minutes later. The plan was to drive through the night with both of us alternating, then sleep all day on the beach when we got there.”

  “I take it things didn’t go according to the plan,” Xander said quietly.

  “No.” A fragment of dread sliced through her, followed by the ache she knew like a fingerprint. “We’d been on the road for about four hours when we stopped for gas in Sanders Hill, South Carolina.”

  Xander shook his head, placing his unopened water bottle on the coffee table without his attention straying from her, even for a second. “Never heard of it.”

  “Not many people have. It’s about forty miles from the Georgia state line, population 3,419. No Starbucks. No movie theater. But they do have a 24-hour gas station.”

  Tara’s heart beat faster, adrenaline and fear racing each other in her veins. But she didn’t stop. “I went inside with Lucas so I could use the restroom while he grabbed some snacks and paid for the gas. He…” She paused for a breath that did not steady her. “He teased me for being a lightweight and having to go so early in the trip.”

  Later, on those nights when she couldn’t sleep, Tara would replay that moment a million times in her head, wondering how something so small and insignificant could spare her life as it stole her best friend’s. “I went into the restroom. I was washing my hands a few minutes later when I heard a loud sound, like a firecracker. Then I heard it two more times in a row, really fast.”

  “Tara,” Xander said, so quietly it could have been a whisper. “You don’t have to tell me the rest.”

  Her eyes burned, but still, she shook her head. Somehow, she wanted to tell him, to set the story to words so he’d understand. “I ran out of the restroom just in time to hear the front door slam shut. I didn’t understand what had happened—I thought maybe it had been some sort of prank. But then I got to the front of the store, and I saw Lucas on the floor. He’d been shot twice in the chest.”

  Tara had found out later that the third shot had hit the woman behind the counter right in the forehead. She'd died instantly.

  Lucas hadn’t been so lucky.

  Tara felt Xander’s hand around hers, but she couldn’t tell if he’d offered it or she’d sought it out. Either way, she curled her fingers around his and hung on. “There was so much blood. It was everywhere. I remember thinking he was going to be mad because his shirt was ruined. The dumb thing was his favorite.” She released a joyless laugh. How utterly stupid she’d been, not to see it. Not to understand that she was the last thing her best friend would ever see. “It didn’t occur to me that he would die. Not until he looked at me, anyway, and then, I knew. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen Lucas look truly scared. But right then? He was terrified.”

  Two tears tracked down her face, but Xander sat patiently, his hand warm and steady. “I called nine-one-one and pressed my hands
over his chest. I told him everything would be okay. I begged him to keep his eyes open, to hang on. When he stopped breathing, I tried to do CPR, but…”

  Xander held her hand tighter even though she couldn’t say out loud that when she’d tried to do chest compressions and be Lucas’s breath, he’d bled harder with every movement. “He coded on the way to the hospital and died before he could get to surgery. The robbery was pretty straightforward, all caught on the gas station’s video feeds. The man who did it burst in just after Lucas and I got there. He didn’t even hesitate to kill both the clerk and Lucas. It was honestly just a weird twist of fate that I was in the restroom. If he’d known I was, he’d probably have killed me, too.”

  “I’m so sorry all of that happened to you. And to Lucas,” Xander said. “Did they catch the guy?”

  “They did.” A bitter taste filled Tara’s mouth. “But the prosecuting attorneys botched the trial.”

  “He got off?” Xander asked, his jawline going tight.

  Not as tight as her rib cage, though. “Yep. He spent sixty-three days in prison waiting for his trial, and then the case was dismissed because the video surveillance footage was thrown out on a technicality.” She would never forget the sound of Lucas’s mom’s cries, deep and guttural with grief as the man who’d killed Lucas had smiled in relief.

  Rather than go all awkward on her—or worse yet, throw her a black tie pity party—Xander shocked her by saying, “Shit, Tara. I don’t know what to say. That’s…”

  “Pretty messed up and completely shitty?” she supplied. “Yeah, it is, and it took me a lot of therapy to be able to wrap my head around it.”

  “Post-traumatic stress is no joke,” Xander said, his gaze dropping to the scar on his forearm. An unexpected warmth moved through her chest as she realized he wasn’t just being a stand-up guy. He actually understood.

  And somehow, that made feeling vulnerable in front of him so much easier.

  “In a weird way, though, the whole thing ended up being not all bad. After I worked through the initial grief and guilt, I got good and pissed off. I didn’t want that kind of injustice to happen to anyone else, so I went to law school and became the best lawyer I possibly could. I treat every case I take on as if it were Lucas’s.”

  “That explains a lot.” A wistful expression crossed Xander’s face. But before Tara could apologize for how intently she’d pursued the charges against him two years ago, he grabbed her attention with, “So, whatever happened to the guy? Is he still running around free even though he killed two people?”

  Ah, at least this part of the story was bittersweet. “Nope. He was stabbed to death in a drug deal that went sideways ten months after the trial. I thought I’d be happy about that—karma, and all. But in the end, it doesn’t bring Lucas or that store clerk back. It doesn’t make me miss my best friend any less.”

  Her voice betrayed her lack of calm, but just then, Xander was calm enough for both of them.

  “That’s definitely true. You can’t undo the past. All you can do is move forward one step at a time. But you did that because you’re a survivor. You went to law school and became a brilliant lawyer. You fight for people who can’t get their own justice. People like Amour. It’s pretty badass, when you think about it.”

  Tara took the words in, her pulse balancing back out and her adrenaline ebbing as she turned them over in her mind. She’d always felt the sting of what she’d lost, the guilt of the twist of fate that had spared her. It had never occurred to her that she was strong for having survived.

  “I’ve definitely never thought about it that way,” she admitted.

  The edges of Xander’s mouth lifted, just enough to ease the moment. “You should. You’re like a lawyer warrior, doing battle in the name of justice.”

  Her laugh was soft, but oh, it felt so good. “You did it again, you know.”

  “Did what?”

  “You totally took me out of my head,” Tara said. “Just like you did last week, with that duck story.”

  He tilted his head, his smile still in place. “Guilty as charged. But I knew it was a hard story to tell, just like I knew you were pretty tense the other night.”

  “It was a really nice thing to do,” she said.

  Xander shrugged. “Ah, it’s no big deal.”

  “Actually, it is a big deal. To me. So, thank you.”

  “Oh.” His lashes swept wide, the dark fringe framing his light green stare. “You’re welcome.”

  In that moment, Tara realized how close their bodies had gotten in the telling of her story. The brush of denim on her bare skin where their knees touched, right at the hemline of her skirt. The warm, steady hold of Xander’s hand on hers. The space between her mouth and his that she could eliminate with a simple turn of her body, a lift of her chin that would let her give in to the magnetic pull she’d felt last week in the hospital lobby when she’d wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

  Only this time, there was nothing to stop them.

  7

  It wasn’t until Tara turned and looked at him, her pretty brown eyes darkened with want and her perfect, pink mouth parted just enough to turn his dick to iron, that Xander realized his error.

  He knew he could keep control of his desire. Hell, he’d been doing it since the minute he’d set eyes on her smart mouth and sexy curves.

  But he hadn’t counted on her wanting him back.

  “You never answered me the other day,” Tara said, shifting close enough to make Xander’s heartbeat do very strange things. “How come you don’t like being called a nice guy?”

  “Because I’m not a nice guy.”

  The answer plowed out of him by default, a truth he knew like a fucking birthright.

  Her laugh called him out. “You go out of your way to make sure Amour is okay.”

  “That’s my job,” Xander said. “I took an oath to protect people. Just because I take that seriously doesn’t mean I’m nice by default.”

  Unmoved, Tara said, “Okay, then. What about that arson and murder case two years ago? Without your help, a lot of people could’ve been hurt.”

  Xander pushed back on the adrenaline that made his heart pound at the reminder. “People were still hurt,” he said.

  “And you didn’t hurt them,” she countered. He arched a brow at the technicality, which—of course—she returned with an arched brow of her own. “You’re still a nice guy.”

  Christ, she was so close to him, her knee pressed against his and her skirt riding up just high enough to make him want to tear the thing clean off of her. “I’m really not.”

  “I think you are,” Tara insisted, and something inside of him broke.

  “And I think that if you knew what I was thinking right now, you wouldn’t think I’m so nice.”

  Her chin lifted defiantly, the fire in her eyes taking another jab at his already questionable composure. “Try me.”

  “Fine,” Xander shot back, knowing even as he heard the words that they were the worst sort of idea. “I’m thinking about how badly I want to kiss you. I’m thinking about the sounds that would come out of your mouth if I slid my hand up that sexy little skirt of yours. How hot you’d feel. How wet. But most of all, I’m thinking about how I wouldn’t want to stop until you come so hard, you forget everything you know other than my fucking name.”

  The “oh” that collapsed past her lips was more sigh than word. “Well, then,” she breathed, looking up at him from beneath the sweep of her coppery lashes. “If you want it that badly, maybe you should do it.”

  “Tara.” Her name was a warning, low and hot in his throat.

  She didn’t heed it. “I want this as much as you do, Xander. Please.” She moved forward, impossibly close. “Kiss me.”

  The words were barely out before he’d slanted his mouth over hers. She made a noise of surprise—Christ, that made two of them—but then her arms were around his shoulders, her body pressed against him like a lush, filthy suggestion, and nothing in th
e world other than a no from her was going to make him stop.

  Xander held her face between both palms, his thumbs tracking over the delicate swoop of her cheekbones as he knotted his fingers in her hair and tightened. The sound that came out of her shot directly to his cock, and the next thing he knew, he’d wrecked the tidy twist keeping all that auburn hair in line. Tara parted her lips at his rough demand for entry, but it wasn’t to let him take. No, her tongue met his in a purposeful glide, the kiss growing deeper and more needful at the same time. Making him want. Making him need. Waking him up as if he’d been sleepwalking for his entire goddamn life.

  She was going to ruin him with nothing more than a kiss, and he was going to love every second.

  Sliding one arm around the back of her rib cage, Xander angled her over the couch cushions. Her skirt—God, that fucking skirt—didn’t allow for much access, and at her sigh of frustration, he reached down low for the hem and yanked it up around her hips.

  “Yes,” Tara murmured, a sentiment thoroughly echoed by Xander’s aching cock as he caught a glimpse of her curvy thighs and the dark blue panties cradling the spot where they met. He moved out of pure instinct, pressing himself over her from chest to hips, saving the barest shred of sanity to offset his weight with one hand on the cushion so he didn’t hurt her.

  “Oh, God, yes,” came Tara’s honeyed response. She thrust her hips against his, unbearably soft where he was unspeakably hard, fitting against him perfectly.

  Xander couldn’t decide if she felt like heaven or home, but either way, he never wanted to leave.

  He thrust roughly in return. The heat of her pussy sent small shockwaves up his spine even though layers of clothes still separated them, and he did it again out of pure selfishness. Tara answered by arching up as her head fell back, her hair wild and her face flushed with want, her skirt rucked up around her waist as he pushed harder between her legs. Never in a trillion years could Xander have imagined such a sweet sin, and the sight of her knocked into him with palpable force.