Beyond control, p.15
Beyond Control, page 15
It didn’t matter.
They must finish this.
Yet the fear was as great as the pleasure. As they made the most intimate of physical connections, her thoughts scattered, clashed with his, crackled through her brain like sparks flying from a damaged power line.
She had wanted this. Now she thought she would lose her mind if he didn’t separate himself from her.
She tried to pull back. Physically. Mentally.
Fear and frustration leaped inside him. Christ! Stay with me. Stay with me!
The plea screamed inside her head as his hips moved in a frantic rhythm, pushing them both toward orgasm. Finally she had no choice. She had to follow.
As the physical sensations built, the static in her brain receded to a background buzz.
There was only room for the hot, urgent need pumping through her—through him.
She felt the delicious male knowledge that orgasm was only seconds away. Felt his penis jerk as the spasms took him. Felt hot semen pump through his cock—out of him—into her as her own orgasm washed over her, through her. Through him. Wave after wave of hot ecstasy—like nothing she had ever experienced, ever imagined.
He collapsed on top of her, both of them gasping for breath. It took hours before their surroundings came into focus around them. Or was it only seconds? Her arms and legs were limp, but she clung to his shoulders.
He moved his cheek against hers. Neither of them spoke. Words were no longer necessary. At least for now.
When he stirred, she locked her hands across his back, holding him inside her. Stay.
I’ll crush you.
Don’t leave me. Not when we finally know what this is like.
Yes.
He didn’t have to ask what they’d discovered. Each of them had been afraid that they were different from other people. Damaged. Below standard.
Well, they were different all right.
Not less. More.
KURT MacArthur clenched his teeth, then eased up before he brought on a tension headache. Why in the hell couldn’t the search team locate Mark Greenwood? The guy had escaped from a mental hospital with no money and no resources, yet he’d managed to stay on the run. He was either very smart or very lucky—or both.
It looked like he’d broken into a house in St. Mary’s and holed up there for a while to catch his breath. At least, the police report matched Greenwood’s description. Now they were looking for fingerprints. And checking to see who might help him. Which had led them to his cousin, Sid Becker, who was under surveillance now.
Meanwhile, Kurt was thinking of another piece of the puzzle. Maybe he shouldn’t have yanked Jim Swift off his surveillance duties at the Hamilton estate.
Eyes narrowed, he called the operative who had been in Wilmington that morning.
“Before I pulled you away to join the hunt for Greenwood, did you see any traffic in or out of the gate at Hamilton’s place?”
“Not much. A bottled water company sent a truck in. I checked on the vendor. Hamilton does use them. And a silver Mercedes sedan came in just before I left.”
“Did you recognize the driver?”
“I got all of the license number—except the last digit. It was a D.C. plate.”
“Give it to me.”
Swift read the number, then hung up.
Kurt went back to the computer, tapped into the D.C. Department of Motor Vehicles, and started looking for possible owners of a silver Mercedes.
JORDAN eased to his side, rolling Lindsay with him, still inside her as he cradled her body against his, both of them savoring the delicious sense of connection.
What just happened to us?
Our minds . . . linked. They’re still linked.
She nodded against his shoulder, but this was too new for her to understand the rules. She wanted to drift in the afterglow of their pleasure. She wanted to simply savor these moments.
When a phone rang, they both jumped.
Damn. It’s my phone. In my purse. I don’t want to answer it.
Better do it.
Why?
I’m not sure. But I think it’s important.
He moved to the side and pulled his body from hers, so she could get up. As she scrambled to get across the room, she broke the physical contact between herself and Jordan. The mental link snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight. It felt like a part of herself had been ripped away.
A wave of fire swept through her brain, and she heard a scream gurgle in her own throat.
Blind, deaf, unable to think, she flopped against the edge of the sofa, gasping.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“OH, CHRIST!” FIGHTING a wave of sick disorientation, Jordan pressed his hand to his temple, trying to stop the knife points of pain shooting through his head. His vision blurred, and for a moment he was lost to the world.
Then Lindsay’s face swam into view. He could barely move. Barely think. Reaching out blindly, he grabbed her arm, and immediately the pain lessened.
“Got to get the phone,” he croaked, then gathered her up and held on to her as they staggered across the room to where she’d set her purse on the counter. Pulling out the instrument, he snapped the lid open, then struggled to find the Talk button.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
“Who are you?” a man’s voice challenged.
“Sid Becker,” Lindsay whispered, holding out her hand.
He gave her the instrument, and she brought it to her ear, still keeping the contact with him.
They were both breathing hard, but with his hand on her arm, he was able to function. And it looked like she was reacting in a similar fashion.
“Sid?” she asked, obviously struggling to keep her voice steady.
The transmission was loud enough for Jordan to hear both sides of the conversation.
“Who was that?” the man named Sid asked.
She glanced at Jordan. “A friend.”
“Someone you trust?”
“Yes.”
“Are you all right? I couldn’t get you at home.”
“We went away for the weekend.”
“Oh,” he said, and she remembered that he’d tried to get her to go away with him, and she’d always refused.
She was still struggling to control her breathing when she asked, “Why are you calling?”
“I heard from my cousin.”
“Good.”
“I’m not sure. I thought he had contracted some kind of illness. But it’s not that. Somebody invaded Maple Creek three weeks ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. He’s on the run. He wouldn’t tell me much. But I’m going to meet him. So I wanted to say you didn’t have to bother Bridgewater.”
“I already asked him.”
Sid was silent.
“Was that a mistake?”
“It depends on where he takes the information.”
“Okay. Keep in touch with me.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Sid?”
“It’s complicated, Lindsay. I have to hang up now.”
The line went dead. She pressed the Off button and set the phone down on the counter. But she kept hold of Jordan’s hand, squeezing tight. He saw in her mind the image of a man standing in a bedroom, staring toward the door. Then he exited the room. As he stepped through the door, the image snapped off.
“That’s him?” Jordan asked.
“You saw . . . that? In my head?”
“Yes.”
“Was it real—or my imagination?” she asked in a shaky voice. “I mean, was he really standing beside his bed?”
“I don’t know. Have you ever been there? To his bedroom?”
She turned her head toward him. “Are you asking if I slept with him?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
She tightened her fingers around his, and he knew the answer.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“My sexual relationships were few and far between,” she whispered.
“Mine, too.”
By mutual agreement they switched back to the subject of Sid Becker.
“Who is he—exactly?” Jordan asked.
“He works for the Center for Military Affairs.”
He closed his eyes and saw the crude map of Maple Creek. He didn’t want to think about the map. About Todd Hamilton or Sid Becker. Or his cousin. He only wanted to focus on Lindsay.
And he knew she felt the same way. But it seemed she had more resolve than he.
“Let’s tie this up. I mean—tie up what we know,” she said.
“If you let me get you into bed first.”
She laughed. “Talk first. Sex later.”
He groaned. “Okay. We know that Mark Greenwood worked at a secure facility called Maple Creek. And it was invaded three weeks ago. Just at the time Todd Hamilton died.”
She dragged in a strangled breath. “And you found a map Todd drew of the facility.”
He didn’t bother asking where she’d picked up that information.
“We know that Todd was worried about a chemical weapons program being conducted in secret. Can we assume the base of operation was Maple Creek? And Todd and his friend Glenn Barrow broke in there to try and shut it down?”
“Based on the evidence, yeah. I think we can.”
“How did they do it?”
“That’s part of what we have to find out.”
“And there was some sort of massive cover-up.”
“Yes. Maybe we can figure out more if we . . . link again.”
“Can you be serious? You just want to get me into bed.”
He grinned. “Guilty. Come on.”
He felt her resistance wavering. Pressing his advantage, he clamped his arm around her and was gratified to feel her melt against him. Sensing victory, he led her to the bedroom, keeping her against his side while he pulled back the covers.
They both slipped into the bed, clinging together, and he closed his eyes to shut out the world as much as possible, holding her, pressing his body against hers, his hand stroking over her silky skin.
It was a strange experience. He felt like he was merging with her, even as he felt his arousal build again. This time the sexual urgency was more manageable.
He had better control of the physical sensations. Instead of being ruled by them, he could use them.
Yes, she whispered in his mind, and he knew she had picked up the thought, that they were joining again in that unfathomable mental way neither of them could explain. All they knew was that it had happened. And it was happening again.
He felt a sense of completeness. But what if they wanted to break the connection? Would either of them feel whole again?
Not what you bargained for? she asked.
Did you?
Of course not.
He didn’t want to think too deeply about what this new reality meant for himself. For Lindsay. For the rest of their lives. Instinctively he knew that this was what he had always missed—always craved. He felt like he’d found the other half of his soul. Still, uncertainty gnawed at him. At her.
It was easier to focus on the current of sensuality that wrapped them in a tight embrace.
He bent to delicately swirl his tongue around one of her taut nipples, loving the feel of that hard pebble in his mouth and knowing exactly how his caress affected her.
He sensed the heat gathering in her lower body. Felt his cock fill with blood, and knew that she felt it, too.
I see why guys think women should have penis envy. You like that feeling of your . . . thing . . . expanding.
My thing. That’s a poetic way to put it. You don’t like the way that feels?
I like it. But the sensation of being turned on is so concentrated in that one inflatable tube.
Yeah, you get aroused all over your body, don’t you?
Yes.
But this part is good, don’t you think?
To punctuate the question, he slipped a finger between her moist, engorged folds, then dipped inside her.
I thought a woman would like the inside stimulation best, he mused.
No, the outside.
Mmm. Yeah. Like this?
God, yes.
As he focused on her pleasure, she couldn’t hold back a small, moaning sound.
He wanted her hand on his cock.
She reached down, clasped him with her fist, and he sighed. He wanted . . .
She moved up to the head, circled, caressed him in exactly the way he had imagined, her finger picking up a drop of semen to use for lubricant, then swirling around the rim.
She drove him toward the point of no return. And he drove her.
They both knew the time was exactly right when she opened her legs and he eased inside her.
They lay on their sides, intimately joined. The physical bond brought them to a new level of mental awareness.
You need to come.
God, yes.
Now, please.
The slow pace was no longer enough, and he thrust in and out of her, fast and hard, driving them both toward climax.
LINDSAY felt the storm take her first, and he followed her over the edge. And in those blinding seconds of pleasure, she knew more than she had moments earlier. She knew they were in danger.
She tried for coherent speech, as the urgency filled her mind—and his.
“We have to get out of here,” she gasped.
“Yeah. Now.”
He pulled his penis from her, and they both braced for the terrible feeling of disorientation that had hit them when they had separated earlier.
This time it was less. Maybe because he’d thought to hold her hand and ease away slowly. Maybe because she was ready for the wrenching sensation.
Her breath caught.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“I guess I have to be.”
“How long do we have?”
“I don’t know. Not long,” she answered.
She wanted to pretend that she’d made up the feeling of impending danger. She knew she’d be lying to herself.
Neither of them had unpacked. They ran to the living room, scrambled into the clothing they had discarded, and grabbed their hand luggage.
By the time they dashed to the door, she saw a pair of headlights down by the office.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
THE HEADLIGHTS BEGAN moving slowly up the hill. It could be a late-arriving guest. Lindsay knew it wasn’t, because she felt a wave of malevolence sweeping up the rutted roadway ahead of the car.
Panic bubbled inside her. Instinctively she reached for Jordan’s hand, locked her fingers around his wrist. “What do we do?”
She sensed thoughts churning in his brain. Plans.
We’d better not take my car. They traced me.
How?
Not sure . . . talk about it later. We’ve got to get the hell out of here. Give me your car keys.
With fingers that felt like sausage links, she fumbled in her purse, found the keys and handed them over.
They both climbed into the car. She prayed that the flash of light when the door opened was blocked by the cabin.
The engine roared in her ears like an uncaged lion. Could the men in the other car hear it?
Men. She pictured their hard faces and gimlet eyes. Had they killed Dr. Lucas? And Todd Hamilton and Glenn Barrow?
And now they were coming for her and Jordan—two more loose ends in the Maple Creek affair.
She tried to calm herself down. The U.S. wasn’t some totalitarian country where the secret police stamped around doing whatever they wanted. That’s what she’d always believed, until the government had started holding people for months and years, using the Patriot Act as an excuse.
“Yeah. We’re not going to try and make nice with them,” Jordan muttered, apparently following her line of thinking.
He didn’t turn on the lights as he drove around the back of the cabin, then kept going up the access road.
Her heart blocked her windpipe as she looked behind her and saw the other car closing in on them.
Jordan tried to speed up. The right front tire hit something solid. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes, reversed, and made a course correction.
As his vision adjusted, he picked up a little speed, keeping the car in the tire ruts.
They reached the top of the hill and started down. Maybe they had a chance to escape.
She had just breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw headlights in the rearview mirror and heard the roar of an engine right behind them.
“Shit,” Jordan muttered, ramping up his speed to the dangerous range.
Without even stopping to check the traffic, he barreled onto the highway with his lights off. She gasped as they narrowly missed an oncoming pickup truck.
Swiveling around, she saw the vehicle in back of them shoot from the access road. But another car was coming up fast. To avoid an accident, the pursuers cut sharply to the right—and nose-dived into a ditch.
“They’re out of commission,” she cried.
“Thank God.”
She kept her gaze to their rear as they sped on into the night, passing secondary roads leading into small communities.
“We have to get off the highway,” she whispered, “in case they get back on the road.”
“Not yet. I don’t want to get trapped on a dead-end road.”
“Turn on your lights before we get arrested—or killed.”
“Right.” He kept going into the nearby town before he made a left into a sleeping neighborhood, then took several more turns, ending up on a residential street where he pulled around back of a convenience store, then cut the engine.
She slid into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder. Feeling her whole body shake, she struggled to keep her teeth from chattering. “Who are they?”
“You mean—like what government agency?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. But somebody knows I’m poking into Todd Hamilton’s death—and the break-in at Maple Creek.”
“The dirty-tricks department?”
He laughed. “Yeah.”
