The Search

He couldn’t figure out if they were fighting. Nothing ever seemed to fall into the nice clear areas of black or white with Fiona—and that drove him a little bit crazy. Because it fascinated him every bit as much as it frustrated him.

If he knew she was pissed and in fighting mode, he could gear up for it, wade into it or ignore it. But the uncertainty kept him off balance.

“That’s her point, isn’t it?” He wandered outside with the dogs. “I’m thinking about it, and her, because I don’t know. It’s f**king devious.”

He frowned at the back of his house. He could pick out the windows she’d washed. She hadn’t gotten to them all, he thought, but she would. Oh, yes, she would. Where the hell did she find the time? Did she get up in the middle of the damn night with a bottle of freaking Windex?

Now, with the way the sun glinted off clean glass, he couldn’t ignore the dull, weathered paint on the window trim. And just when was he supposed to find the time to paint the freaking window trim, which means painting the door trim?

And once he painted the trim, he knew damn well he’d have to paint the goddamn porches or they’d look like crap.

“It was fine before she cleaned the damn windows, and I’d have gotten to it sooner or later. Go up.”

At the command, Jaws cheerfully climbed the ladder of the slide and trotted down again with a hand signal. Simon gave the dog a treat, then repeated the skill a couple of times before moving to the teeter-totter.

The other dogs climbed, tunneled, jumped and navigated on their own, using the training equipment as enthusiastically as kids use a playground in the park.

Simon glanced over as Bogart barked, then watched as the Lab picked his way agilely over a length of board no wider than a gymnast’s balance beam.

“Show-off. You can do that.” Simon gave Jaws a pat on the head. “Go on up there and do that. What are you, a pu**y?” He led the dog over, surveyed the beam. “It’s not that high. You can get up there.” Simon patted the beam. “Go up!”

Jaws gathered himself, then plopped his ass down. He gave the beam and Simon a look that clearly said, What the f**k?

“Don’t embarrass me in front of these guys. I’m spotting you, aren’t I? Up!”

Jaws angled his head, then his ears pricked when Simon took out a treat and set it on the beam.

“You want it? Come get it. Up!”

Jaws made the jump, scrabbled for purchase, then dropped off the other side.

“He meant to do that.” Simon gave the other dogs a cool stare, then leaned down close to Jaws. “You meant to do that. That’s your story. Let’s try it again.”

It took a few attempts, and a human demonstration Simon was grateful no one could see, but Jaws finally managed a landing.

“All right, f**king A. Now you’ve got to walk. Let’s walk.” He took out another treat, held it just out of reach until Jaws picked his way to the end of the beam. “Yeah, look at you. Circus Dog.”

Ridiculously pleased, he got down to give Jaws a full-body rub. “Let’s do it again. I’d give that one an eight-point-five. We’re going for the perfect ten.”

He spent the next ten minutes working on the skill, perfecting it before indulging in a wrestling contest in which he was outnumbered four to one. “She’s not the only one who can train. We got that one down, didn’t we? We—Well, shit.”

He shoved to his feet as it hit him. He was playing with dogs, working with dogs. He carried dog cookies in his pocket as habitually as loose change and his Leatherman. He was thinking about what color to paint his exterior trim and porches.

He’d made organizers for his kitchen drawers.

“This,” he said with feeling, “is nuts.”

He strode to the house. Boundaries? She didn’t know where his boundaries were? Well, she was about to find out.

He wasn’t going to be maneuvered and manipulated, and trained to be something he wasn’t.

There, he thought, was the black and the white.

He could hear her, breathing hard, as he stomped up the steps. Good, he thought, maybe the workout had worn her out and she wouldn’t have enough breath to argue her way out of it.

Then he stepped into the doorway, and just stood.

He didn’t notice the clean floor or windows, or that the sweaty shirt he’d peeled off when he’d done some lifting the day before wasn’t on the floor where he’d tossed it.

How could he? All he could see was her.

She executed some sort of martial arts routine and looked as if she could kick some serious ass. Lust added the final grip to interest and admiration to choke out temper.

Sweat dampened her face and the skinny tank she’d changed into. Those long legs, highlighted in a pair of snug black shorts, kicked, set, spun while the wiry muscles in her arms rippled.

He’d be drooling in a minute, he thought, as she balanced on one leg, kicked, then landed on the other in a graceful blur.

He must’ve made some sound because she pivoted, set into a fighting stance—eyes cold and fierce. Just as quickly, she relaxed and laughed.

“Didn’t see you there.” She sucked in air. “Scared me.”

She hadn’t looked scared, he thought. “What was that? Tae kwon do?”

She shook her head, gulped from the bottle of water she’d set on the weight bench. “Tai chi—mostly.”

“I’ve seen people doing tai chi. It’s like sissy New Age in slow motion.”

“First, it’s really old age, and the slow moves are about control, practice and form.” She crooked a finger. “It’s organic,” she said, “and about centering your power.”

“I’m still hearing sissy New Age, and that’s not what I was looking at a minute ago.”

“There’s a reason many of the moves have pretty names that come from nature. Like Push the Wave.”

She demonstrated, slowly, again gracefully pushing her hands out, palms toward him, then drawing them back, palms up. “But if I intensify that same move for defense, it’s—”

She shoved him back, knocking him off balance, then pulled him in and past her. “See?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

Grinning, she spread her legs, bent her knees and gave him a come-ahead gesture.

“Okay, you’ve seen The Matrix,” he said, and made her laugh.

“You’re stronger than I am, bigger, taller, longer reach. You may be faster, but we haven’t tested that yet. If I have to defend myself, I need to be able to center my power and use yours. I used to practice every day, in my obsessive way. Tai chi, power yoga, boxing—”

Interest piqued. “Boxing?”

“Yeah.” She put up her dukes. “Want to go a couple rounds?”

“Maybe later.”

“I did kickboxing, resistance training, hours of Pilates and whatever else you can think of every week. It made me feel capable and secure. Pro-active, I guess. Then I eased off, and I got rusty. I stopped pushing myself until . . . well, until.”

“You didn’t look rusty.”

“Muscle memory. It comes back. And the ever-popular motivation.”

“Show me. No, wait. This isn’t why I came in here. You did it again.”

“I did?”

“Distracted me. Sweaty, sexy body. You don’t need tai chi to throw a man off balance.”

“Wow.” She gave a little shoulder wiggle. “Now I do feel powerful.”

“It’s that.” He pointed.

“It’s . . . the window?”

“It’s the window. Why did you wash the window?”

“Because I like clean windows. I like to look outside, and it’s more pleasant to do that when I’m not looking through a film of dust.”

“That’s only part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“The other part is getting me to notice the ones you haven’t gotten around to washing yet so I feel guilty. And so I see that the trim needs painting.”

She picked up her water bottle, uncapped it. “That’s a lot of motivation behind some Windex and a rag.”

“And there’s this.” He dug in his pocket, pulled out a handful of dog treats.

“Oh, thanks, but I’m trying to cut down.”

“Funny. I put these damn things in my pocket every day. I don’t even think about it, I just do it. I just spent a good half hour, maybe more, out there working with the dogs.”

All patient attention, she sipped her water. “Because I washed the window?”

“No, but it’s the same thing. It’s the same thing as the house smelling like a lemon drop or me thinking I should probably pick you up some flowers the next time I’m in the village.”

“Oh, Simon.”

“Shut up. And it doesn’t matter a damn that we’ve got bigger things to worry about because basic is basic. So . . .”

He strode to the window, slapped the palm of his hand against the sparkling glass. “Leave it,” he ordered, pointing at the smudged print he left behind.

“Okay. Why?”

“I don’t know why. I don’t have to know why, but if I want it gone, I’ll wash it off. You leave it alone.”

There, he thought. Now they’d get down to it.

She started to laugh, a full-out, up-from-the-gut roll that left her breathless again. She had to bend over, brace her hands on her thighs.

“Listen, it may sound stupid, but—”

Still bent over, she waved him off. “Not entirely, but enough. God, God! I’ve been up here working my ass off to make myself feel strong, capable of dealing with whatever comes at me so I’m not hiding under the bed trembling, and you accomplish the same thing in under five minutes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You make me feel strong, capable, even ingenious because you just see me that way. I haven’t got you wrapped around my finger, Simon—far from it. And the fact is, I wouldn’t want you there. But because there’s this little part of you that worries I do, or I could, I feel I can take on anything that comes. Anything at all. I feel strong and sexy and capable and ingenious.” She flexed her left biceps. “It’s heady. I’m drunk on it.”

“Well, that’s just great.”

“And you know what else? That you would do that—that silly thing to make a point.” She gestured toward the window. “That you could do that without feeling foolish, but feel just a little foolish because you’ve spent time out there playing with the dogs? Simon, it just disarms me.”

“For God’s sake.”

“It disarms me and delights me. So I’m disarmed, delighted, strong and sexy and capable all at the same time. And no one has ever made me feel the way you do. No one. That.” She pointed to the window again, and let out a laugh that sounded as baffled as he felt. “That right there is why, as ridiculous, as incomprehensible as it is, it’s why I’m in love with you.

“Simon.” She walked to him, linked her arms around his neck. “Isn’t that a kick in the ass?” She pressed her lips to his in a hard, noisy kiss. “So, handprint stays. In fact, I think I’ll draw a heart around it first chance. Meanwhile, I can show you some basic moves before I dive into the shower and a glass of wine. Unless you want to yell at me for a while.”

“That’s it,” he muttered, and, grabbing her arm, pulled her across the room.

“That’s what? Are you throwing me out of the house?”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m taking you to bed. I ought to get something out of this.”

“Gosh, what a charming offer, but I really need that shower, so—”

“I want you sweaty.” He used the momentum, gave her arm a quick whip and more or less slingshot her onto the bed. “I’ll show you some moves.”

“I think you just did.” She pushed herself up, cocked her head. “Maybe I’m not in the mood.” And her breath caught when he yanked the damp shirt over her head, tossed it. “Or—”

“You can pick that up later.” He cupped her br**sts, rubbed her ni**les with calloused thumbs. “You made the bed.”

“Yes, I did.”

“A lot of good it did you.” When she shivered, he pushed her onto her back.

“And you’re going to show me the error of my ways?”

“Damn right.” He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her gym shorts, pulled.

Smiling, she trailed a fingertip from her collarbone to her belly, and back again. “Then come and get me.”

He stripped, watching her watching him.

“I should just keep you naked,” he considered as he straddled her. “I know what to do with you when you’re naked.”

“I like what you do with me when I’m naked.”

“Then you’re going to love this.”

He took her avid, inviting lips with his, roughening the kiss even as he deepened it. He used his weight to pin her as her heart began to gallop, used his hands to exploit her so that hot, damp skin trembled.

Strong and capable she was, down to the marrow, he thought. It was part of what made her irresistible. But now, just now, he wanted her weak, he wanted her helpless. For him, only for him.

He used his tongue, his fingertips, in long, slow journeys that made her sigh as he felt her body relax into pleasure.

Then his teeth so her pulses leaped.

When his mouth came back to hers, she sighed again, lifting her hands to his face in the way that always disarmed him, then sweeping her fingers through his hair.

Against his mouth her breath quickened when he trailed a finger up her inner thigh, retreated, stroked slowly back to brush, only to brush, the heat.

When she moaned his name, arched her hips, he retreated again.

She ached. Her body quivered, rising toward that lovely release, only to have it denied. Even as she said his name again, he feathered his fingers over her, made her writhe. And his mouth began the same torturous assault on her br**sts.

He gave, gave, took her to within a breath of peak. Then eased away to leave her churning.

“I want you. Simon. Please.”

Still he played her until her gasps mixed with moans, until her hands pulled at the spread she’d so neatly smoothed that morning.

He drove into her, hard, fast, a shock to her tormented system. The orgasm tore through her, center to throat. She heard her own scream, heard it, felt it deepen into a shuddering moan of release. Her body roared through it, bucking beneath his, nails digging in until her hands simply slid bonelessly to the bed.

He dragged her up so her head fell against his shoulder.

“Put your legs around me.”

“I—”

“I want you around me.” His teeth scraped over her throat, her shoulders. “It’s all I can think about. You around me.”

She gave him what he wanted, held on through the storm. Rode it up again, yet again, until there was nothing left.

She all but melted onto the bed, might have lain there weak as water till morning. But he pulled her over, anchored her so she sprawled over him with her head on his chest over his raging heart.

She dozed off and the next thing she knew she was blinking awake and staring at four furry faces pressed to the deck door. Simon’s chest rose and fell steadily under her head, but his fingers played with her hair, sliding through it, twining it, sliding. Everything about the moment made her smile.

“The dogs want in,” she murmured.

“Yeah, well, they can wait a minute.”

“I’ll get them.” But she didn’t move. “I’m starving. I guess working out followed by working out hones the appetite.”

She snuggled in. One more minute, she told herself. Then she’d let the sad-eyed dogs in, grab that shower, and they’d figure out what to toss together for dinner.

She started to stretch, then her gaze landed on the bedside clock. “What! Is that clock right?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?”

“But . . . Did I fall asleep? For an hour ? That’s like a nap.”

“Fee, that is a nap.”

“But I never take naps.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Well, God.” She shoved up, pushed her hands through her hair. Since it was the closest to hand, she grabbed his T-shirt, dragged it on.

It just covered her ass, he noted. Too bad.

She opened the door, and the room was immediately filled with dogs.

“Sorry, boys. Go on and talk to Simon. I need a shower.”

She dashed into the bathroom. And all four dogs lined up on the side of the bed, tails whipping, eyes staring, noses twitching.

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s right. I had sex with her. A lot of sex. What’s it to you? Only one of you has balls, and since everybody’s haranguing me, he’s not going to have them much longer.”

He recognized the gleam in Jaws’s eyes. “Don’t even think about jumping up here,” Simon warned, but cupped a hand around his own balls, just in case. “Why don’t you go get me a beer? Now that would be a useful behavior.”

Since none of them seemed inclined, he got up to get one for himself.

Once he got downstairs, he switched it to wine. She’d said she wanted wine, he remembered. He might as well go that route, too. He poured two glasses and sipped the first as he opened the refrigerator to study the contents.

They were going to starve to death, he decided, if one of them didn’t think about hitting the grocery store. He poked into the freezer and decided one of her frozen girl meals was better than starvation.

Marginally.

He picked up her wine and, with the dogs trailing him—again—started back for the stairs.

Beside him, Newman let out a quiet woof seconds before he saw the woman walk onto his front porch.

She beamed a smile through the screen door. “Well, hello.”

Simon took a moment to think she was lucky he’d bothered to pull on his boxers. “Something I can do for you?”

“I hope so. I’d love to talk to you for a few minutes. I’m Kati Starr, with U.S. Report. Isn’t that Fiona Bristow’s car—and her dogs, right?”

Slick looks, slick manner, he thought.

“Here’s what I’m going to do for you. I’m going to tell you, once, to turn around, get back in your own car. Go away. Stay away.”

“Mr. Doyle, I’m just doing my job, and trying to do it as thoroughly and accurately as I can. My information is there might be a break in the investigation. As I’ve been told Ms. Bristow’s now living with you, I’d hoped to be able to get her thoughts on this potential break. I admire your work,” she added. “I’d love to do a feature on you sometime. How long have you and Ms. Bristow been involved?”

Simon closed the door in her face, flipped the lock.

He figured he’d give her three minutes to get the hell off his property before he called the sheriff and had the satisfaction of pressing charges for trespassing.

But when he got back upstairs, Fiona, wet hair slicked back, sat on the side of the bed.

“I saw her through the window, so you don’t have to wonder if you should tell me or not.”

“Okay.” He passed her the wine.

“I was going to say I’m sorry she came here, started on you, but it’s just not my fault.”

“No, it’s not your fault. She said she had information that there’d been a break in the case. I don’t know if she was just fishing or if she’s got a source leaking her information.”

Fiona let out a muttered oath. “I guess we’d better tell Agent Tawney, just in case. What did you say to her?”

“I told her to go away, and when she didn’t, I just closed the door.”

“Smarter than I was.”

“Well, I considered giving her a quote, but I thought ‘Fuck you, bitch’ didn’t have any real creative zing. And it was all I could think of. If you’re going into brood mode, it’s going to piss me off.”

“I’m not going into brood mode. I’m going into neener-neener mode by calling the FBI and the sheriff’s office and tattling on her. And I’m asking for a restraining order after all, just for the fun of it.”

He reached out, smoothed a hand over her hair. “I like that mode better.”

“Me too. Then what do you say we flip to see who cooks dinner?”

“Buzzing up sissy frozen dinners isn’t worthy of a flip.”

“I was thinking of the steaks we have in the meat drawer of the fridge.”

“We have steaks?” The day got brighter. “We have a meat drawer?” She smiled and got to her feet. “Yes, we do.”

“Okay, the meat drawer probably came with the fridge. How did we get steaks? Do you have a magic cow somewhere?”

“No, I have a fairy stepmother, who delivers. I asked Syl if she’d pick us up a couple steaks, Idahos, some staples I needed. She dropped them off today, including a bunch of fresh vegetables and fruit because she thinks we need those, too. That’s why there are fresh vegetables in the crisper. And yes, we have a crisper.”

He decided there was no point in telling her he’d looked in the fridge and seen none of those things. There’d just be some variation of his mother’s standard crack about Male Refrigerator Blindness Syndrome.

“You make the calls. I’ll start the grill.”

“Works for me. You do know you’re only wearing your underwear.”

“I’ll put on the pants you’ve already picked up and folded on the bed you’ve already made. But that means if we have to have any of those vegetables, you’re dealing with them. I’ll take the steaks.”

“That’s a fair trade. I’ll make the calls downstairs.”

When she went down, he put on the neatly folded work pants she’d laid on the bed.

Before he went downstairs, he stepped into his makeshift gym.

Okay, maybe, like the rest of the house, the room smelled like a lemon drop. But his handprint was still on the window.

It was, he supposed, a strange kind of compromise.

He started down, cursed, walked back up and yanked open a drawer. He pulled on a fresh shirt.

She’d gotten the steaks, he reminded himself.

Steaks, fresh shirt. It was just another kind of compromise.