Dakota Meltdown. Elle James
Chapter Three
Checked in at the hotel, Brenna stripped down to skin and padded to the bathroom to brush the road grime from her teeth. As she stood in front of the mirror, her mother’s words returned to bounce around her thoughts.
Settle for a man who’ll accept her and all her scars.
She stood back and assessed herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Besides the toothbrush in her mouth, she looked pretty normal. A little on the short side, but just like anyone else. Until she turned around.
Pivoting, she glanced over her shoulder at the wide swath of scarred skin from her right shoulder down to the bottom of her right thigh. Laced across the smooth, leathery scar tissue was a mottled pattern of splotchy pink, purple and blue lines. Burned in a freak barn fire as a small child, she accepted the scars as a part of her. But children were cruel and many had poked fun at her, calling her alligator skin and burned cookie when she’d gone outside in shorts or a swimsuit. Not that she’d let them stop her. With her father’s love and encouragement, she’d grown up confident and as normal as she could. Yet when it came to adult situations in the bedroom, the lights were definitely off.
The one time she’d opened herself enough to let a man into her bed—that sleazebag Victor Greeley—he’d forgotten to tell her one important fact. The jerk was married. While she’d been hiding her scars in the dark, Victor had been hiding uglier sins.
She should have known better than to date a traveling salesman. What kind of cop was she that she fell into the age-old trap of being the other, unsuspecting woman?
After she’d learned his secret, avoiding him was easy…until he’d moved his wife to town and bought a house on a street just around the corner from Alice.
Brenna’s embarrassment at her stupidity, coupled with the guilt she felt for nearly ruining another woman’s marriage, was sufficient motivation to leave town and the police force she’d cut her teeth on. Living in Bismarck, she didn’t have to pass by Victor’s house, nor did she bump into his sweet but clueless wife, Ginnie, at the grocery store.
Brenna tapped the water out of her toothbrush and ran her tongue across her clean teeth. With the weather so bitterly cold she couldn’t go out to jog, she decided on a swim in the hotel pool and slipped into a one-piece black swimsuit. Grabbing a beach towel long enough to cover all her scars, she wrapped it around her middle, tucking the edge in at the top. A dozen laps ought to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders and help her think through the problem of one maniac on the loose. Her mind worked better when she generated exercise-induced endorphins.
The drive from Bismarck had been stressful enough without arriving to find the case had been turned over to the FBI. Especially since the man in charge was entirely too egocentric, gruff and good-looking for an FBI agent. Where’d they come up with these guys? She thought agents were chosen for their ability to blend in with a crowd. Not Nick. She could spot him in the Mall of America, much less a small town like Riverton.
She’d do her best to maintain her distance from Agent Tarver. He looked as if he could chew her up and spit her out if she crossed the line. Besides, she didn’t have time to play push-me-pull-you with him. A maniac was on the loose and her job was to find him before he abducted someone else.
Brenna slipped into a pair of flip-flops and padded down the hotel hallway to the glassed-in area with the heated pool. When she pushed through the doors, she was engulfed in a thick wave of humidity and the acrid scent of chlorine. She dropped her towel beside the pool and dove in.
Fifteen laps later and still no closer to a clear mind, she surfaced and grabbed the side of the pool. When she raised her hand to brush the stinging chlorine from her eyes, an iron grip clamped onto her wrist and she was jerked from the water.
Her heart in her throat and her eyes still cloudy with pool chemicals, Brenna struggled to plant her feet on the decking. Once she gained traction, she dropped into a football lineman stance and plowed into her attacker. Hit square in the gut, he fell backward to the ground.
Brenna staggered to regain her balance and stared down at Nick Tarver lying still on the hard concrete floor, his eyes closed.
Jeez, had she knocked him out?
Dropping to her knees, she stared down at his chest, looking for any sign of movement. None. Her heart beat loudly against her eardrums as she leaned forward to feel for the gentle puff of air blowing in and out through his nose.
Nick Tarver wasn’t breathing!
CPR training kicked in and Brenna tipped his head back. Pinching his nose, she sealed her lips over his and blew a long breath into his lungs, turning to see his chest rise as she did.
Before she could blow another breath, his arms clamped around her and she was flipped onto her back, their lips still connected. The air blasted out of her lungs and she lay in stunned paralysis for a full two seconds. Long enough for the man to straddle her and pin her hands to the concrete above her head. All without breaking the lip-lock.
BRENNA JENSEN WAS A WOMAN with a death wish and she needed a lesson on following orders. But now, with her wet body pinned beneath his thighs, he didn’t know who was teaching whom the lesson. She lay still beneath him, but she wasn’t fighting yet.
He hadn’t planned on wrestling her, but when she’d knocked him to the ground, his reactions had been instinctive. Now he was lying on top of a half-naked woman dripping wet from her recent swim.
What was worse, Nick’s traitorous body responded to all the shiny wet skin exposed by her discreet black swimsuit. And he was kissing her now, knowing she’d be pissed as hell when she came to her senses.
Perhaps the thought of her anger made him increase the pressure on her lips and drive his tongue between her teeth to war with hers. Hadn’t he come to teach her a lesson about what could happen when you didn’t follow orders?
The kiss lasted only a few agonizingly brief seconds before her muscles tightened and she gasped. Slender fingers flew from around his neck to plant firmly against his chest, shoving him backward. “Get off!” she sputtered, squirming beneath him until she realized she couldn’t dislodge him and he wasn’t going to budge.
“I’ll get off as soon as you calm down.”
When she stopped moving, he rolled off and sat on the concrete next to her, regret washing over him for his unprofessional actions in kissing her.
And all that squirming she’d done had left its mark on him—one that manifested itself beneath the zipper of his jeans. Damn this woman. She was more trouble than he’d bargained for and she’d get herself hurt if she wasn’t careful. “You didn’t check with me before leaving the police station.”
“Is that what this is all about?” She remained flat on her back, her breasts heaving beneath the black Lycra. “Are you telling me I have to report every move to you?”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
She leaned on her elbow, her brows rising on her forehead. “I didn’t think I was a member of your team. Has that changed?”
“Yes.” The word flew from his mouth before he thought. Okay, so she could be a member of his team instead of stirring up trouble on the periphery.
“And if I weren’t a female member of your team, would you make the same rules?”
“Yes.”
“Bull!” Her glare sliced through him.
“Until we catch this lunatic, you’re to report every move to me, and only me. No leaving messages with any of the rest of my team or the Riverton Police Department.” He leaned closer until his face was only inches away from hers. “I will know your every move including when you go to the bathroom. Do you understand?”
Her mouth opened and closed without uttering a word, her blue eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights overhead. He thought she wouldn’t answer, when